Passion for Patria
by DonJuana19
Summary: Enjolras's mind is far from anything other than strategies and barricades. But when he meets a young revolutionary with as much spirit and desire for change as he, will leaders clash or rebels unite? Or perhaps Fate has something different planned...
1. Chapter 1

"Enjolras!" Combeferre cried out. Enjolras turned to face his comrades, who were

running through the open doors of the Café ABC, excitement flashing in their eyes.

"At Notre Dame the sections are prepared!" Combeferre continued, grinning like a

madman.

"At Rue de Bac they're straining at the leash!" Feuilly continued, directly

behind Combferre.

"Students, workers, everyone! They're all rousing, ready for a fight! Nearly all

of Paris is behind us!" Courfeyrac exclaimed giddily, clapping the other two on the

back. Enjolras beamed, clenching his fists in triumph. "The moment is fast

approaching. It's so close, their hearts are afire with revolution! But we cannot relax,

not even the slightest bit. Not too much wine now, boys! The army to come is a

dangerous foe. They've got more men and weapons than we, and though we can just

sit back and swat them away like verminous flies, the national guard is another

matter entirely." He explained, glancing around at all of the men surrounding him,

each one hungry for freedom. "What we need now is a sign. One to rally the people,

to call them to arms, to beckon them to fight alongside us!" He continued, and his

fellowmen looked as exhilarated as he felt. Enjolras had always been excited by

these sort of things; ever since his father had told him all about politics as a child,

and he had grown up listening to them, formulating his own opinions as he grew.

Finally he went off to the university, learning about the law, growing angrier and

angrier each passing day as he read the about the government and how it worked,

though outside the university walls he saw these officials feeding off of the poor's

weaknesses. And now, here he was, about to lead the so-called "children of the

gutter" to the freedom they so well deserved. Just then, Marius, his comrade and

right hand man, walked in, barely walking straight, eyes dazed and staring ahead.

"Marius, you're late." Enjolras said calmly, staring the boy questioningly.

"What's wrong with you today? You look like you've seen a ghost." Joly

chuckled as Marius blinked and turned to him.

"Here boy, have some wine. Tell us what's goin' on." Grantaire drawled,

slapping the boy's back, sending him stumbling forward a few steps. As soon as he

recovered, the glazed look returned to Marius's eyes. "A ghost? Perhaps she was a

ghost. One moment she was there, the next gone." Enjolras suppressed a groan,

pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips. Could the boy have picked a

worse time to fall in love? It remained silent for but a millisecond more, then

Grantaire burst out laughing. "I am agog! Is our little Marius in love at last? While

you rouse us with talk of triumphant battles, he waltzes in like Don Juan! This is

better than watching an opera." He snorted, making the others roar along with him.

Enjolras shook his head, face stern. He knew that none of the others could possibly

be as passionate as he about the rebellion, but he expected a bit more than this

childish behavior, at least. He raised a hand slowly, and they all went silent. One of

the good things about being the leader of a revolution, no matter how dynamic, is

the respect you earn getting there. "It is time for us all to decide who we are," he

began, trying to catch each eye in the room, make sure they took this serious as the

day was long. "Is that what we're fighting for now, a night at the opera? Gentlemen,

have you thought to yourselves of the price you might pay? Or has this simply

become a game to you? Well, I can feel the winds of change beginning to blow, and

the colors of the world are altering with it. Our flag shall be one of Red; color of a

new day's, no, _world's _dawn, and the flush of angry blood, and Black; the dark of ages

past, and the color of the dreadful night that will at last end!" He cried out, and the

others cheered. All except for Marius. "Please, you must try to understand… no, how

could you when you were not even there! I was struck to the bone… all in a moment

of breathless delight! Now I can hardly tell what is right or wrong." Enjolras sighed.

The poor boy looked more muddled than ever, pleading aimlessly for someone to

understand. Watching the lovesick pup, he'd never been more grateful that Patria

was his only mistress. Patria, who he loved with a passion more blazing than any

wildfire, who he would fight for 'til his heart stopped beating. "Marius, you're no

longer a child. I know your intentions are good, but there is currently a higher call.

You need to forget about this girl, for our little lives don't matter at all now. Not

when there is such a great goal to accomplish." Marius looked down at the floor, but

obviously the words knocked a little sense into him, because as the others began to

chant, "Red, the blood of angry men! Black, the dark of ages' past..." he joined in with

them. Content to have nudged everyone back into order, Enjolras began shouting

orders again. There was so much work still to be done, and so little time to do it!

"Well Courfeyrac, do we have all our guns? Feuilly, Combeferre, time is running

short!" He turned to Grantaire, who had just downed another bottle of brandy. "For

God's sake Grantaire, put the bottle down! Do we have all the weapons we need?"

"You can't make me! An' who needs weapons when, with brandy, I could

breath 'em all to death?" Grantaire gurgled, taking another sip. Enjolras turned from

him, unwilling to waste time arguing, and instead looked to the men he'd addressed

first. They took one look at his expression and gave their reports. "In St. Antoine

they're with us to a man!" Courfeyrac nodded to him. Enjolras saw the little boy,

Gavroche, barge in the doors, but was too busy listening to these accounts to

acknowledge him. "In Notre Dame they're tearing up the stones!" Combeferre added.

"We've got twenty rifles, good as new!" Feuilly shouted from the back where

they were storing all their weapons.

"There's twenty rounds for every man!" Joly counted.

"But double that in St. Port Cloud!" another man, Jean Prouvaire, directed

towards Joly.

"Plus the seven guns in St. Martin!" Lesgles grinned, like everyone else, at

their growing numbers. All of a sudden, a bellowing, "LISTEN EVERYBODY!"

sounded out, and the Café dropped into a stillness so quiet you could have heard a

pin drop. It was none other than little Gavroche, who was now perched on top of a

table, arms crossed, annoyed, in front of him, though a flash of smugness danced

through his eyes when he saw the attentiveness he'd grabbed. It was then he

remembered that rather important message he was to deliver, and said in a solemn

voice, "General Lamarque is dead." No one was shocked, no man gasped or hung his

head low at this news. They all knew it had been coming for weeks. And it was

exactly what Enjolras had been waiting for. "Lamarque is dead. But his death is the

hour of fate! On his funeral day they will honor his name, all with the blaze of

rebellion in their eyes. Yes, using the death of Lamarque we will kindle our flame. On

his tomb, the tomb of the people's man, we will build our barricade!" He shouted in

conquest, thrusting his fist in the air. The men went wild, cheering and shouting,

"Viva le Republique!" none even attempting to contain the rush of anticipation that

now pulsed through their veins. And Enjolras was no exception. "Now let us take to

the streets with no doubts, just joy, in our hearts, that the people will rise up to meet

us, and we will _finally be free_!" He was screaming as loud as his lungs would allow to

be heard over top of the others, but he didn't care. After a while, his companions

were gasping for breath, and Enjolras took the opportunity to say the words his soul

had been aching to shout for weeks now. "Can't you just hear the people sing?

Singing the songs of angry men. This is the music of the people who refuse to be

slaves once more! Now, as our hearts beat, they echo the beats of the drums! A new

life, one of freedom, is about to start, perhaps in a matter of days." That made a

whole new set of shouts erupt from the men, and their hearts were indeed pumping

so quickly it was like the quick sounding beat of a thousand drums. "Who will join in

our crusade? Who will be strong enough to stand with us? Beyond the barricade is

there a world you want to change?" Combeferre added in, saluting Enjolras. A few of

the others echoed his call, everyone chanting together, and then Enjolras dismissed

them, dispersing the meeting on an elated note. He left the ABC, walking down the

crowded streets of Paris with his adrenaline pumping. A blood red flag… the sign of

the barricades of freedom… it was just so perfect! Everything was falling into place,

and with so much spirit of revolution alive in his dear friends, so much planning that

had gone into this coming battle, how could they lose? His conscience nagged him as

he thought this, whispering every little thing that could possibly go wrong, but he

tried to shove it to the back of his mind. Positive thoughts, positive outcomes. There

was no turning back now. He continued on down the street, seeing happy first class

citizens (all naïve and nearly exactly the same as the last), a few policemen, and, off

in the shadows where none of these puppets of the ruling would dare to look, the

dirty, ill, lowly, and poor. He saw children watching fearfully with eyes wide as a

dog's who has been abused far too much, women with silly grins upon their faces,

obviously driven to the point of not caring about what they did for money, and

then… the Thénardier's. He knew their trade; one of corruption and thievery, and he

knew the little street girl, Éponine. She followed Marius around like a pup trails its

master, and it was painfully obvious the girl was infatuated with him. But, it seemed

the only one who _couldn't_ see it was Marius himself, so they all had to watch,

shaking their heads, as she desperately tried for his attention, and Marius noticed

about as much as one would notice a flea on a dog. He caught her eye, and she

smiled when she saw him, quickly glancing at her parents, who were trying to lure

passersby to throw them coins to pay for their 'poor, nearly dead daughter' who was

actually getting up and scurrying towards Enjolras. " 'Ello Monsieur Enjolras!" she

said, walking up to him. He nodded towards her and replied, "Good day,

Mademoiselle." He knew exactly what she was going to ask, and that she wasn't just

trying to be friendly. "Marius around?" He held back a sigh at this girl's incessant

fixation before responding, "He isn't with me, but I'm sure he hasn't gotten too far

from the Café. Good luck finding him, and good day." She did a sort of clumsy curtsy

before thanking him and running off. Her parents were now yelling after her, but of

course that didn't discourage her at all. "Why must she kiss those boys' feet? They

ahn't as special as they think they ah." He overheard Mme. Thénardier hiss to her

husband. He ignored her comment and continued on his way down l'rue, noticing a

great crowd ahead. He approached it curiously, and as he got closer he could hear a

faint voice shouting above the others, who were cheering in response. He raised an

eyebrow, breaking out in a small grin. '_A rally, eh?'_ he thought. He always enjoyed a

good public speech; whether he agreed with the cause or not was usually the

question. He got to the edge of the crowd, but his line of vision was obstructed by a

tall man in a top hat standing in front of him. But he could hear the speaker perfectly

now, and was completely struck with awe. "Brothers, sisters, listen here! We may be

covered in grime from head to toe, our clothing may be torn and wearing away, and

our backs may be weak with sickness; but they, those who say they are "running the

country", they have grime _in their souls_, their fancy clothes mask the swine they

really are, and they are weak, not with illness, _but with cowardice_. They feed off of

our misfortune, _our_ blood, sweat, and tears, and what do we get for it? Tell me sir,

because I am not aware of one thing." The lad paused for a moment, cupping his ear

to hear the responses from the crowd. "Nothing!" everyone, including Enjolras,

screamed. The boy straightened back up and continued, "That's absolutely right! We

get nothing to our benefit, even though it's us they're working off of. Well tell me, my

good people, is this the definition of fairness?"

"No!" another roar burst forward from the crowd. Enjolras had pushed his

way through to the front, and saw that the boy making the speech had eyes the color

of sea foam, alive with ardent flames. He looked absolutely delighted with the

reactions he was getting. That wasn't all he looked, though. Enjolras noted that the

boy couldn't have been any older than a teenager. He wore a dusty gray cap on his

head, and his tanned skin was smooth as a duchess's. His lips were plump and rosy,

and besides his thin, dark eyebrows, there was no hair on his childlike face

whatsoever. For the first time ever, Enjolras saw what others saw when they called

the revolutionaries schoolboys, for this boy looked like a child's doll. And yet his

words were so powerful, so enthralling; he was hypnotized just like the rest of the

crowd. "So are we to sit back and watch as this so called "government" ruins the

lives of our parents, husbands, wives, daughters, and sons? Or are we going to rise

up and take a chance at liberty? Join me, brethren, so that we may at last be free!"

The boy bellowed, punching a fist in the air. The crowd exploded with cheers;

clapping as loud as they could, chanting words of battle and rebellion, and turning to

each other, wide-eyed, and discussing the exhilaration of the boy's words, their

plans to help with whatever crusade was to come. An idea had formed in Enjolras's

mind, one that involved recruiting this young advocate of independence to stand

with them at the barricade. He watched as the boy jumped off the platform (really

just a few old crates pushed together), landing agilely on his feet before pushing

past the last few men standing in his way and rushing towards him. "Excuse me!" he

called to the boy, who stopped and turned around to look at him. He caught up and

found himself looking down ever so slightly to look the boy in the eyes. Now,

Enjolras had always been tall, but this boy was a full head shorter than him. "How

can I help you, Monsieur?" he asked.

"Well, I couldn't help but overhear your speech, and you…" he trailed off as

he watched the boy reach up and pull off his cap… letting long, glossy locks tumble

down _her_ shoulders. His jaw dropped open, and he stuttered, "You—you're—

you're…"

**A/N: ****Hey guys! For those of you who found this story because of your reading my Phantom/Les Mis crossover, than you so much for taking the time to look at it! And for those of you who just stumbled across this, I hope you enjoy! Ramin Karimloo is my Enjolras, because that man is a singing GOD, but I stuck with the book's description of blonde hair. Ramin with blonde hair… can't you just see it? X) Anyway, thanks for reading, I'd love to hear from you, so R&R! :D ~DonJuana **


	2. Chapter 2

"A woman? Yes I am. Is there a problem?" she asked him, sounding greatly irritated.

He snapped his jaw shut, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. That would explain her

height, her smooth, hairless skin, her pink, petal-like lips, her glittering eyes…

"No! Not at all… Mademoiselle. You disguise just had me fooled. And I didn't expect

such influential words to… never mind. As I was saying, I was listening to your

speech and your words were like fire. But the issue at hand is that we seem to both

striving towards the same goal." He said, regaining his neutral expression.

"And?" she said, eyebrows raised. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to

remain calm though her sharp crossness was starting to vex him as well. "Well, I am

months into my planning, and from your speech it sounds as if you're only in the

first few stages of your arrangements."

"Do you have a date set? The weapons and men required? A strategy laid out?"

she fired at him, cocking her head curiously.

"Yes."

"Well, that's unfortunately more than I've got at the moment. Are you

suggesting we join forces?"

"Strength in numbers, mademoiselle. Why fight individual battles when we

could combine to become one and strengthen our chances?"

"You make a very good point, Monsieur. Alright, I'll join you."

"And you'll bring the crowd of recruits you were rousing just now?"

"No, I was just firing them up to irritate l'Inspector," she laughed, a sweet

little sound. Enjolras chuckled along with her in spite of himself. "Of course I will.

Where should I bring them?" she asked him.

"Do you know of the Café ABC?" he questioned her. When she nodded, he

continued with, "Good. That's where we've been meeting, so you can bring your men

there." She nodded, smiling at him, showing off her rows of pearly white teeth.

"Alright, thank you Monsieur—wait, what is your name?" she asked.

"Enjolras," he responded, bowing marginally.

"Charmed, Enjolras. I'd curtsy but it seems I'm wearing chaps. My name is

Lynette." She replied with a laugh. He snorted with a smile, then asked, "Yes, why

are you wearing chaps, Miss Lynette? And are your men even aware that you are a

woman?" She shrugged, grinning, and said, "Have you ever tried to wear a corset,

Enjolras? Dreadful things. I find pants to be much more unrestricting. And no,

honestly I doubt they do. But does it really make a difference what gender I am? I

dressed as a boy to make them listen at first, but after they've heard my words they

will listen just the same. That is the power of my words, and I have never been more

proud of a God given talent." She was glowing as she spoke, almost as much ecstasy

and adulation in her eyes as she spoke about this as when she was kindling the

flame for revolution. "Yes, I have to hand it to you Lynette, I think those men would

have jumped into the Seine with their hands cuffed together had you told them to.

You are a wonderful speaker, and I'm glad you are using this ability for so great a

cause." He told her, beaming at the thought of what her speeches could do for Patria

should _all_ of its citizens have the time to listen. She crossed her arms and smiled at

him, saying, "Why, Monsieur Enjolras! I swear your eyes lit up brighter than the sun

at the mention of that 'great cause'. I assume you are very passionate about this

coming battle?"

"More than you can even dream, Miss Lynette. I was born with a passion for

justice; not the type they claim to enforce nowadays, but the authentic kind: an

equilibrium where everyone is treated equally, punishment is completely just, and

no one lives in fear. I love Patria with all my heart and soul, and am ready to offer up

my full servitude and even my life, should it become necessary, for her and the

freedom of her people." He finished, gazing past Lynette, beaming at some unseen

daydream. He snapped out of it when she started speaking again, her voice nearly as

eager as his. "Mon dieu Enjolras, do you have any idea how refreshing it is to speak

with someone as consumed as I with the idea of liberation? Finally, someone who

hungers for autonomy, but is actually sensible in their plans of action! Anyway, I

have always felt a great pride in my country, and am tired of those brainless pigs

running her into the ground. It is time for change!" He smiled in admiration,

fascinated with her extensive knowledge and fiery expression towards politics. "Is

that you reason for craving conversion then? I was curious; I mean, it's obvious

you're not a student so—"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she snapped at him, voice suddenly harsh

and defensive. He stuck his hands up in a submissive gesture, saying, "I didn't mean

that you do not sound educated, it has actually enthralled me since you began

speaking how you could possibly have attained such widespread knowledge without

attending one of France's _top_ universities, it's just that I myself am a student, and

you don't look familiar, not to mention the university doesn't admit girls." He

winked, and she relaxed.

"Alright, thank you. Well, to answer the question I rather rudely cut off,

besides my blazing love for my country, the government had affected my life on a

personal level." She explained, expression growing serious.

"Ah, a common spark for such a fiery hatred. What's the story?" He asked

casually, for these events were so common these days he felt no more

uncomfortable asking than if he'd asked for the time. She looked down at the ground

in just a second of what looked from her expression like despair, then she

straightened and responded, "Well, let me sum up my family's miserable tale for you.

My father was hung when I was two because he had stolen one slice of cheese for my

then pregnant mother, I have two brothers; one imprisoned for speaking out of

terms, the other a former student, and my most beloved big sister left us over a year

ago, and I recently found out that she has been sleeping around to try to support

herself." For a moment Enjolras was speechless, unable to find the right words to

say to her. He was shocked that the government had destroyed nearly everyone in

this girl's family, and could see why she reviled them so. Finally, he decided to veer

away from the subject. "You say your brother was an ex-student? Why did he quit?"

Abruptly, she burst out laughing, and his confusion at this action must have been

clear on his face, for she said, "Quit? He didn't quit. They threw him out." Enjolras

was tempted to ask what he'd done, but decided it best not to pry. "Right then. Well,

I need to get going, but be at l'Café ABC at dawn tomorrow so we can introduce you

to the others and begin executing our final plans." He instructed, bowing his head.

She nodded back saying, "Yes sir, you can count on us to be there. Just make sure

_your_ men are on time. I'm not one to be kept waiting." She winked, and he chuckled.

"You don't have to worry your young mind about that. There's only one…

well, maybe two who ever dare to be late." He said, thoughts immediately flying to

Grantaire and Marius.

"Young? Who are you calling _young_?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"Well how old _are_ you then Mademoiselle?" he asked, sighing. She gasped.

"Monsieur Enjolras! How dare you ask a lady her age!" His eyebrows shot up, and

his arm twitched in exasperation. "But you just—" She cut him off with another bell-

like laugh. "I'm just teasing you! Calm your nerves, Enjolras. And I'm twenty-four, for

your information." His lips pursed. He was not fond of being kidded with. "A bit

short for your age, aren't you?" he said curtly, still in a slight pout. She cocked her

eyebrow. "Or maybe you're just tall for yours, Goliath. Ever take that into

consideration?" she joked before turning away.

"This is actually a very healthy height for a man of twenty-six!" he called after

her, feeling like a child for arguing so. She didn't even turn around. "Alright, alright.

I'll see you tomorrow!" He watched her go, irritated and amused at the same time.

How had she done that? Made him bubble with annoyance and laugh at himself

simultaneously? Even just the thought of it provoked him a bit, but he couldn't be

too angry with her because it was countered in his mind at the thought of her

intelligence. She had been absolutely right, it had been incredible to talk to one as

informed as she. He'd forgotten to ask her where she'd learned it all, though he

assumed her brother had taught her. Her speech was proper and mature as an

astute old scholar, and her understanding and wisdom of the law was nothing short

of shocking, especially considering she'd been sharp and informed enough to

formulate her own opinions. It was rare and beguiling, and he was ecstatic to now

have such a qualified co-developer. He walked towards his apartment building, lost

in thought of the coming struggle. He was mentally checking back over everything

they'd need; old furniture, any other weapons they could find in this short time, first

aid supplies, and food and water. His mind suddenly flickered to Marius, God only

knows where he was by now, no doubt fawning over his apparition of a girl. He

wished he could find some way to reach him, to remind him of the importance of his

presence the following day, but for now he could only pray that if he could just be on

time one day in his life, it would be tomorrow. He unlocked the door of his

apartment and stepped inside, taking a deep breath before sitting down on the bed.

In truth, he was absolutely exhausted each day when he returned home, when his

fuel, the excitement in his soul and in that of his comrades, was gone. It was always

just… too quiet for him. He felt that a place shouldn't be allowed to be this quiet, not

when there was so much else that could be happening, so much else that he could be

working on. But right now, he was just so tired…. he had barely slept the past few

days, so busy examining his strategies, scrutinizing every possible variable of

change, setting up a plan B, C, D…

There could be no holes. There could be no defects, errors, slips, or imperfections.

They were already so outnumbered, so liable to failure… he shook his head, almost

as if trying to convince himself that victory was as good as theirs. Sure, they were

the underdogs, but look at the Americans! They were seen as nothing but a weak,

unimportant little colony, and yet they fought with a patriotic fire and won their

independence. Why couldn't they do the same? He smiled to himself, thinking of

how wonderful it would be should… _No, when_, he thought fiercely, they win. '_But will _

_such a huge price almost surely paid in lives be worth it? When the odds were already _

_so weighed against us?'_ that nasty little voice in the back of his head nagged him. His

fatigued eyelids began to droop, and he didn't fight it, actually hoping sleep would

overtake him. Not only did he need as much energy as possible for the mêlée to

come (though, it stirred him so immensely that was not really a concern), but he

also wanted to forget about the worries and risks that were now ever present in his

mind. Dispel the horrible thoughts which now flashed through his thoughts; the

sound of a bullet tearing through flesh, the pungent, morbid smell of death, the faces

of his friends, drained of life, eyes glazed over. He shuddered at the dreadful images,

but soon fell into a deep slumber.

**A/N: Hello fellow Mizzies! :D I hope you're enjoying this story so far! Introducing Lynette, the new co-developer of the barricades. And, as you can see, she's got quite a bit of bite to her. Do you think they'll clash majorly or somehow miraculously learn to get along over their love of Patria? R&R to answer, or to just let me know whether you love, hate, tolerate, etc. this story. Hope to hear from you! :D ~DonJuana**


	3. Chapter 3

_He glanced around frantically, looking for something, some sign of hope. Any small _

_glimmer of light he could find would have soothed the horror and alarm now burning _

_so painfully in his chest. But all he saw was his worst nightmares coming to life before _

_his eyes. The sky was a hellish red, and ash and blood carpeted the stone with their hot, _

_sticky, and utterly ghastly weave. He could hear and see everything more acutely than _

_ever before, as if karma had sharpened all of his senses especially for this horrendous _

_massacre. Every crack of a gun, he heard. Every cry of agony, he heard. Every final _

_tear splashing onto the stone ground, he heard. He knew his eyes were teeming with _

_tears, for he could feel them on the brim of his eyelids, burning and stinging, but he _

_was granted no mercy. His vision was clear and perfect, and what he saw was worse _

_than hearing the voice of death itself, now roaring in his ears. He heard the thunderous _

_explosion of a cannon, and suddenly a broken, bleeding body flew through the air, _

_landing with a thud about ten paces in front of him. Despite the screaming warnings _

_from the practical side of his brain, he ran towards it, covering the distance in three _

_bounds. He cried out in dismay when he saw Feuilly's familiar face, eyes lifeless and _

_shaded in a milky sort of film. The fan maker's masterful hands were still and mangled _

_from the fall, and he looked away, unable to see the dreadful fate that had forced itself _

_upon his dedicated friend. But no clemency was given to him, nothing stopped him _

_from seeing the next victim of this near-holocaust, lying just a few feet away. Grantaire. _

_He nearly laughed; for the man's beefy fingers were still wrapped around the neck of a _

_beer bottle, but the sound still caught in his throat and was overcome by a sob instead. _

_He longed to cry out to Grantaire, to hear his gurgling, drunken tone shout cheerfully _

_back to him, but he knew it would do no good. He had to save his breath, for who knew _

_how many he had left. He turned away from Grantaire, and his newly perceptive ears _

_made out the quick paced thumps of worn, rubber boots; someone was sprinting. He _

_turned around to see his friend since childhood, Combeferre, running his way, musket _

_in hand. "Enjolras, duck!" he yelled, and as soon as the shout escaped his lips, he obeyed. _

_He dropped to the ground, and watched, tortuously anguished, as one of his best _

_friends dropped dead from the stray bullet meant for him. He covered his face with his _

_hands, moaning and shouting at himself, on the brink of losing it completely. And just _

_when he thought it could get no worse, he suddenly heard an ear-piercing scream, and _

_he jumped up to see the bulky, black, looming shape of the barricade, and on top of it _

_stood Lynette. He had heard the shot ring out, he knew what the holding of her _

_shoulder meant. Suddenly, another bullet splintered into action and he yelled in terror _

_as it pierced through her heart. His senses intensified even more in that moment, and _

_he could abruptly hear the bullet tearing through muscle, the tiny gasp she emitted _

_when she was hit, and the blood pumping through her veins, slowly stopping with the _

_decelerating of her heart. He heard the rustle of her eyelashes fluttering to a shut, then _

_the old wooden structure creak beneath her feet as she tumbled backwards to the _

_ground at his feet. He fell to his knees beside her, tears streaming down his residue _

_stained cheeks. Her face, which had been so full of life only hours before, was now _

_expressionless, chalky, and white with a stony, ghostly pallor. Her eyes had shown with _

_that fervor for freedom until her very last moments, and now it was like someone had _

_snuffed out a candle in a dark room. Her smooth skin just didn't look right without that _

_flush of enthusiastic excitement, without a bright smile plastered across her cheeks. His _

_tears were torrents of suffering, and he could hear them as they dripped down onto her _

_cold, unresponsive skin. He was so devastated, so totally overwhelmed by each of the _

_deaths now hovering over him, he just couldn't stop the sobs, the laments, the torture. _

_Each one of his friends' blank faces was like a rusty, jagged dagger being plunged into _

_his gut and twisted, but it was not nearly enough to kill him. No, God forbid he die _

_alongside his friends, he had to watch. He stared down at Lynette, a woman he'd just _

_met but already been entranced by because of her fiery character, her positive outlook, _

_her exquisite words. And now she was dead at the foot of the barricade, her fire doused, _

_her sunny temperament gone for good. He was so lost in his grief, not even with his _

_freshly polished audible range did he hear the footsteps padding closer and closer to _

_him, or the cock of a gun. He jumped when he heard a deep man's voice shout, "Your _

_little game is over boy, give yourself up tranquilly and pray for God's mercy." He looked _

_up from where he knelt next to Lynette, taking in the three soldiers who now stood _

_before him, muskets aimed. He glared at their pitiless faces, managing to growl, "You… _

_you did this!" They laughed in an eerie unison, eyes searing with malice and venom. _

"_We did this? __We__ lead your friends to their deaths in a battle that never had a chance _

_of being won? I think not, rebel." And then they pressed down on their triggers. He had _

_one thought in the millisecond before all went dark; "They're right."_

Enjolras woke with a shuddering gasp, nearly getting whiplash from the speed at

which he sat up. His heart was pounding, and his entire body was overlaid with a

cold sweat. When he looked down at his hands, they were shaking furiously, and his

breathing was so rushed it was on the verge of hyperventilation. After a few minutes

of being in this miserable, panicked state, he calmed himself enough to begin

thinking, '_It was only a dream. Pull yourself together, it wasn't real.' _His reassurances

reminded him sheepishly of his childhood, when he'd awake from a nightmare and

run to his mother, who would take him in her lap and soothe him. '_Are you going to _

_retrogress back to your juvenile habits then, Enjolras? Compose yourself!' _he thought.

But a small bit of his brain eased his embarrassment saying, '_That dream was so vivid _

_and macabre, you have every right to be a bit shaken.' _Yes… so real… and so

dreadfully _possible_. All in all, they were nothing but a bunch of college students and

misfits; nearly all inexperienced in real combat. Could he really lead them into this

battle knowing they had so little of a chance? '_But think of the rewarding outcomes _

_should__ you succeed!_' his integrity whispered, sparking the images of his usual

daydreams of peace, justice, sovereignty, and freedom. What were their little lives in

exchange for the emancipation of all of Patria? It was such a small price to pay for so

prodigious a recompense. Though his aide-mémoire of a dream distressed him, he

knew that there was no backing out now, that he still wanted to fight until they

pried the barricade's crimson flag from his cold, dead, hands. He just desperately

hoped his friends didn't have to pay the same price. He lay back down, realizing that

the sun had not yet risen yet, and he should try to get as much sleep as possible to

catch up from the aforementioned sleepless nights. He tossed and turned, trying to

steady his breathing to relax, but he couldn't fall back asleep. Every time he closed

his eyes, he saw the horrific phantasmagorias of his nightmare flashing before him,

quickening his heartbeat all over again. After a while he stopped trying to close his

eyes, and just stared at the ceiling of his tiny flat, thinking. He thought about the

coming day and made a list of things that needed to be accomplished; first priorities

being the need to assign watches and positions, and of course to begin building the

barricade. Just the thought of it thrilled him, despite the potentially ominous reverie

he'd just dreamt. Today, they build and undergo final preparations, tomorrow

evening, they fight for the freedom of the people. He was as incited as he'd ever been,

and when he closed his eyes he could nearly taste the victory it could bring. This is

what he had been working towards half his life, and he wasn't just about to renege

from it because of one flamboyant dream. Patria was his one true love, his purpose,

his life, and he would win for her and her citizens. Without warning, his mind

flashed to Lynette. Did she ever have hesitant thoughts as this? From the way she'd

been talking yesterday, it seemed nearly impossible, but then again, he was sure she

must think the same of him. Was she afraid? Did she ever think of what a slaughter

this could turn out to be? Was she lying awake as he was, contemplating what the

penalty for this rebellion could be, including the possibility of her own death? His

mind unwillingly began replaying the imageries of his nightmare; her skin white and

pale, her eyes glazed over, the hot, red blood blooming like the petals of a rose from

her wound. For a reason he couldn't fathom, her death had been the most

excruciatingly sorrowful in the dream, her death made him weep even more than

the others. Why would that be? He'd known Combeferre all his life, and the others

for years. Why did his dream figure find her passing the most traumatizing when

he'd just met her hours before? Finally, he got up out of the bed and decided that a

few hours would just have to be enough; for there was no way any more were

coming anytime soon. Not with that dream haunting him so intimately. He walked

over to the window and saw that the sky had just begun to turn a pinkish purple

from the navy it had been in the night, and soon it would be dawn. Wasn't it better

for the leader to come early anyway? _Leader…_ the word still made him shiver; both

in terror and delight. It could either be the biggest mistake or greatest decision he'd

ever made, and it all depended on the passion of the people and the strength of the

barricade. He collected the last of the things he thought he'd need, scrutinizing the

flat over one more time to make sure nothing vital was forgotten. After the third or

fourth survey, he walked out the door with a spring to his step. Today was the first

day of the revolution that could change everything! He walked down the quiet

streets, ignoring the shouts of, "C'mon handsome, there's still time for a quick one in

the park!" from the so-called "lovely ladies" on the side of the road, brushing them

off as if is they were no more than provocative ants. It was sick and wrong what they

were doing with their lives, though he knew that with most, the choice had not been

theirs. Being broke was a horrible mistake in Paris, a mistake that could easily result

in death. That was what had driven most of them into this lifestyle, and instead of

feeling repulsed as most did, he used their seductive shouts and abhorrent display

as more fuel for succession. Perhaps, once the revolution was won and finished, they

would use their new freedom to find better lives. He soon came down l'rue that the

ABC was on, and upon approaching it he realized he was not the first to arrive.

Lynette was leaning up against the wall of the Café, eyes closed and head bowed.

"You're early." He stated, though a questioning quaver hid behind the assertion. Her

eyes snapped open, standing out strikingly in the low light, looking a nearly white,

blue-ice color. "Would you rather I have been late?" she grinned, cocking her

eyebrow. He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help grinning back. "No, not at all. I was

just inquisitive, for it's not even dawn yet. And I thought I was an early riser…" he

trailed off, chuckling. She shrugged. "How could I sleep with all the excitement

building up inside of me? I didn't know when I was speaking yesterday that I would

so soon be preparing for a revolution." She smiled, face lighting up.

"Having second thoughts?" he teased, though he did want to know whether

she too had worried after his musings this morning.

"Not in the slightest. I would die for this rebellion, and though it was

unbeknownst to me yesterday that by today the battle would be beginning the

following day, I was quite honestly born ready." She replied, that same fire returning

to her tone. He nodded, but left it alone. He was tempted to ask, '_And if you do die?'_

but he did not want to start off such an anticipated day with a topic so disheartening.

"So why are you so early then? As eager as I am, I presume?" she asked.

"Well, of course. I managed to catch a few hours of sleep last night, but the

tension and stimulation of what was to come caused me to stir." He responded, not

bothering to mention his dream. It was just another daunting subject, another

negative thought. "Ah well, it's just too inciting an event to _not_ cause some

impatience in awaiting its arrival." She chuckled. It was silent for a few rather

uncomfortable moments, but then she glanced around saying, "So where are your

men? Shouldn't they be arriving with you?"

"Well, I have two things to say to that statement: one; I recall saying they

wouldn't be _late,_ not that they were ever early. And two; do you realize the satire of

your saying that when none of _your_ men are here?" he retorted, eyebrows raised.

She snorted, obviously amused. "Alright, touché on that one. You're right, happy

now? Well, I made sure to brand into their minds the address however, so they

should be here soon."

"And if they get lost or come late?" he suggested harmlessly. She stared up at

him, a mischievous smile on her face. "Then dying with a shot to the head would

seem kinder than when I'm through with them." She responded darkly. He rolled his

eyes. "And do they know of this threat? Have they distinguished the fact that you are

to be feared?"

"Some of them have only known me as long as you have, so more likely than

not, no. Are you _suggesting_ something Monsieur Enjolras?" she asked him, tone

slightly cool.

"Well, you aren't exactly the national guard, Mademoiselle. I recall them

being a bit… well, taller." He bit back a derisive grin. She glared at him, but he

thought he saw a trace of laughter in her eyes. "Oh ho, making fun of my height again

Goliath? Well, I have two things to say to that. One; I honestly don't know what you

are talking about, I've met plenty of people shorter than I. And second; if you're so

unconcerned with my threats, perhaps I could use you as an example to show my

new recruits what there is to fear?" He was about to comment when suddenly he

heard a loud, obnoxious wolf whistle. "Oh Lord." He groaned under his breath. He

turned around to see Grantaire stumbling clumsily down the street, a huge toothy

grin on his face and a tickled glint in his eye. "Enjooolras!" he bellowed, obviously

biting back laughter.

"Well look who decided to come early instead of his usual tardiness." Enjolras

muttered, glaring at Grantaire, warning him to conduct himself with his eyes. Of

course Grantaire paid no mind. "And who might this be?" he asked, glancing flirtily

at Lynette. Enjolras's glare did not cease, but he calmly said, "Grantaire, allow me to

introduce Lynette, our newest recruit and assistant strategist." Grantaire's gaze

never left Lynette, but she masterfully refused to look at him by pretending to gaze

around the quiet street. "A pleasure, Mademoiselle." Grantaire purred, and she

nodded unenthusiastically. Then Grantaire turned to Enjolras, wriggling his

eyebrows. "Enjolras, you courting this lovely young thing?" He opened his mouth to

protest, but Lynette held up a finger, silencing him. She looked at Grantaire, her

expression neutral but her eyes daring him to say another word. "No, he is not. As a

matter of fact, I am in love with another." Enjolras was confused for a moment, but

then she continued with, "His name is Patria. Perhaps you've heard of him?

Handsome and grand, chivalrous, often pushed around mercilessly by the

government…" She was ever so casual, as if she truly were talking about her human

acquaintance instead of her homeland. Enjolras laughed heartily at her wit,

impressed. The drunk that was Grantaire, however, didn't grasp the concept as

quickly. "Ah, the good ones are always taken. Well beautiful; if you need a rest from

the same old _routine_, let me know." He winked, stepping just a bit closer than

Lynette was comfortable with. She gracefully backed up, now directly next to

Enjolras. "I can assure you Monsieur, even if I wasn't so taken with my country,

ne'er-do-wells like you are the last men I would even grace with a glance." She told

him coolly, arm twitching as if she wished to slap him right across the cheek.

Grantaire didn't notice, he simply threw back his head and let out a gurgling laugh.

"Well you _are_ a feisty one, aren't you? Perfect, that's just how I like 'em."

"Grantaire!" Enjolras said sharply. Even in his drunkenness, Grantaire could

hear the utter seriousness and impatience in his tone, and he backed off. "Yes sir?"

he asked submissively.

"Scout out the street. If you see any others from our company, send them

here immediately, and pick up any material which could be of use to us on your way."

Enjolras commanded, pointing him towards the street. Grantaire nodded and

walked away, stealing one last smirking glance at Lynette. "Thank you." She

breathed once he was out of earshot. Enjolras nodded in return. Lynette then turned

her head, watching the drunk stumble back down the street. "So _these_ are the men

who will be fighting alongside us? The men you trust with _guns_?" she asked,

suddenly bewildered. Enjolras straightened, pressing his lips into a hard line. "Not

all are as careless as Grantaire, most are quite possibly the most loyal, intelligent,

and refined men you'll ever meet. Even Grantaire, on that rare occurrence when he

is sober, is well-mannered." He replied, defending his friends. She put her hands up

in the air, sensing the tension in his voice. "Forgive me, I did not mean to say that

they won't be. I shouldn't have judged, my apologies, but at least try to see why…"

she trailed off, shrugging. He sighed, knowing what she meant. A period of silence

settled between them, and he found himself staring at her. Grantaire's flirting had

caused him to notice how… beautiful Lynette really was. He knew that his friend

would not give a woman a second thought unless she was attractive, and for this

reason had never settled down. But this realization made him look closer than he

had the day before… seeing the way her blue-green eyes sparkled in the warm light,

the complete flawlessness of her complexion, the rosy flush of her cheeks, which

matched the color of her ruby red lips, the way her chocolate locks cascaded down

to rest lightly on her shoulders, and how her face, though childlike, was framed

perfectly by the part in her hair. He recalled how he had considered her to look like

a child's doll, each feature perfectly crafted, and now wondered how he could have

ever mistaken her for a boy. She was just too… too womanly, too lovely to even look

close to a man. He suddenly realized he was staring and blinked a few times before

looking away, hoping his casual guise wasn't exposed with a blush. Sure, she was

beautiful, but he'd never cared for any lady but Patria, never been interested in any

woman his entire life. He'd never cared; Patria was his mistress, he wanted nothing

more. And even if he had, he'd had plenty of women throw themselves at him, it

would have been easy to find one to settle down with. But he'd never enjoyed their

attention, scorned it even. They were so simple minded, so ready to give up

everything for the love of a man. And what good was a human had they no

backbone? This was why he'd never cared for romance, never thought about

courting or marriage or love. It was just strategies, barricades, and arms that

afflicted his thoughts, and he desperately yearned to keep it that way.

**A/N****: Hello dear readers! Hope you're enjoying so far! Just want to give a shoutout to 2many-bunnies , a most avid reviewer who I am dedicating this chapter to. Even though I've only released two chapters so far, she's been the only one to review them! Thanks, darlin'! Really appreciate your support! **

**Aww… poor Enjolras with his nightmares. Anyone else **_**really**_** want to give him a hug? I know I do. ;) **

**And there we go… let the clashing begin. They've both got fiery personalities, so it was bound to begin at some point. But oh, don't worry, it's going to get even better. XD**

**Grantaire… I just love 'im. He's such a hoot. Hadley did such a great job playing him in the 25****th****.**

**Anyway…. R&R, please! You know how much Enjolras loves to read, and that includes your feedback! ~DonJuana19**


	4. Chapter 4

"Quiet now, quiet please!" Enjolras called out, and to his relief the men

silenced and Lynette did not need to step in. The ABC was packed; all of Lynette's

recruits had shown up in addition to his own, and each was stealing sly looks at the

other secretly. "Good day, my brothers. As of right now, I am sure you have become

aware of two things. First off; there are some new faces in this room, one of which is

standing right next to me. Men, I'd like you to meet Lynette, a woman I discovered

yesterday to be in the process of planning a revolution much like ours. She has

brought to us these new forces, and now our numbers grow greater still. Now

secondly, after today, we have one more day until our revolution begins." He

grinned broadly, and the entire Café erupted into cheers. "Yes, I know you are all

most certainly as incited as I am, but let us work with haste, for at nightfall

tomorrow we could be fighting." He finished. He stepped down from the chair he'd

taken perch on, and was immediately pulled aside by Combeferre. "Enjolras, with all

due respect, a woman? Co-planning the revolution we've been waiting our entire

lives for?" he hissed under his breath.

"Trust me, Combeferre, have I ever steered you wrong? She isn't just any

woman, she's as passionate about this as we are." Enjolras replied. Apparently

Lynette had better hearing than he'd assumed however, because she, looking

slightly irritated, got up on the chair he'd been using moments before. "Alright

gentlemen, listen here. I know what every one of you is thinking. '_Why is a woman _

_being trusted with an event of such importance, such revolt?' _Well, I'll tell you right

now. How many of you have been _personally_ offended by the government? I ask you

to step forward now." Her eyes darted around the room as more than half of the

men in the room stepped forward. "Ah, you see? And how does that make you feel?"

she asked, pointing to a random man in the sea of faces.

"'atred towards the men who caused it." He replied, face in a scowl.

"That's right. And how strong is that hate?" she continued, eyebrow raised.

"It burns in my 'eart like the flame of this 'ere revolution." He finished with a

grin, looking around at his colleagues.

"Exactly. You see, my good brothers, I too feel this burning passion inside of

me because I too have been affected by the dreadful decisions of the government.

Though I am a woman, how does that prevent me from feeling just as fervently as

anyone else on this topic? Though I am a woman, how does that prevent me from

fighting alongside you to free this country from the grasps of our so-called

bureaucrats? Though I am a woman, how does that keep me from dreaming of a

better future for Patria?" she stated and the Café went silent. Not a syllable was

uttered, not a wisp of a breath exhaled. She smirked in triumph, then said, "That's

precisely right. It doesn't." Then she jumped back off the chair, practically strutting

back over to where Enjolras and Combeferre stood. She glared at the latter, eyebrow

raised, and wide-eyed, he began to clap. It was unaccompanied at first, but slowly

others joined in until the entire room was applauding furiously, past the shame

they'd felt after worrying about her gender, now just awed and fueled by her

infectious words. During the chaos, Combeferre leaned over to say to Lynette, "I do

hope you'll forgive me, Mademoiselle. If I'd known I was scorning a speaker so

astonishing, so powerful, so much higher in ability than I could ever hope to be, I'd

never have opened my mouth." She flashed him a pearly smile, then replied, "You

are more than forgiven sir, and I'm very much obliged."

"Allow me to properly introduce myself; I am Combeferre." He bowed his

head to her.

"Charmed, Monsieur. Though I'm sure you heard before, my name is Lynette."

Just then, Courfeyrac, Joly, and Feuilly came over and stood beside him. "Ah! It

seems you three are just in time to be properly introduced to our new Ami. Meet

Lynette." Combeferre said, gesturing towards the girl.

"How do you do, Mademoiselle. My name is Feuilly." The man smiled,

stepping forward with a nod.

"They call me Joly." Joly winked.

"And I'm Courfeyrac. I daresay Mademoiselle Lynette; I feel most grateful to

be working with someone with such fire in their words, not to mention one with

such a lovely countenance." Courfeyrac told her, eyebrow cocked.

"Thank you Monsieur." She replied simply.

"Now how would you like me to introduce you to the others? You'll need

someone who knows everyone here as well as I do in order to meet them properly."

He winked. She opened her mouth to answer, but Enjolras cut her off. "That's

enough of your flirting, Courfeyrac. We have much work to do, and little time to do it.

Come along Lynette." She nodded once more to the three, then followed Enjolras to

the back of the room. '_Always the womanizer.'_ Enjolras thought of Courfeyrac,

mentally sighing. In truth, he found himself slightly irritated. And worse yet, he

didn't know why. Lynette was receiving so much attention from the others;

Combeferre, Grantaire, Courfeyrac. Was he jealous that they were taking such a

quick liking to the new strategist? Yes, that must be it. What else _could_ it be? He

shook that out of his head, coming back to the task at hand. "Alright, let's announce

to the men that we should begin going over our final tactics, assign positions…" he

started casually, but then she interjected. "Oh no, we need to begin constructing the

barricade. Les Amis!" she began to call them to attention, but he cut her off with an

exclamation of his own.

"What do you mean, 'Oh no'? We need to review the plans first and confirm

all positions of our troops. Men, att—"

"Not so fast, what chance have we of winning have we no barricade?" Lynette

fired back.

"A chance more than if we have no strategies laid out!" he glared at her.

"So we are going to leave our men without any protection against the open

fire of the enemy because we failed to finish the barricade?"

"No, we are simply going to walk through our procedures so that every man

is where he should be, not in the wrong place at the wrong time as a near target for

stray bullets!"

"Those bullets wouldn't be able to reach him _had we a barricade!_"

"Which is rendered useless unless we have an idea of what we are to do

_should something go wrong!_"

Every eye in the room was on them; watching, amazed and horrified simultaneously.

Had this little spitfire truly _dared_ to counter and cross their fearsome leader? The

Café was more silent than the great beyond, for no man dared to breathe should

they attract attention away from this dispute, no man dared to blink should they

miss a part of it. Marius had slipped in (Éponine, of course, right behind him) as this

little battle raged on, and he found himself completely lost and bewildered,

watching this stranger of a woman yell at one of the strictest men he knew.

"Well forgive me, Monsieur, for seeking to form a shelter from death itself for

these men you call vos amis, but I thought you wanted to win this battle!" Lynette

snapped.

"No, excuse _me_, Mademoiselle, but who has been striving, preparing, and

arranging this battle for _months_ now, you or I?"

"Listen here, Blondinette! You know as well as I do that without a solid

foundation, no structure can withhold. The same goes for your diagrams! Without a

barricade guarding them, they will crumble and fall."

Every onlooker gasped in unison. Had she just… _mocked_ him?

Enjolras practically shook with rage. "Wh—_what _did you just call me?"

Lynette was obviously holding back a triumphant smirk, for she as well as every

man watching knew that she had just gained a foothold, a moment of hesitation in

which to pull ahead. "You heard me loud and clear, _Blondinette._ But you know what?

Fine. I've had a moment to clear my head. This is what we'll do. Let's send half of our

men to begin building the barricade, and the rest will remain here, going over the

plans and making any final edits needed. Once they've thoroughly gone through

them, with not a single thing overlooked, we'll switch stations. It is irrelevant to

waste precious time doing one at a time when exactly how much time we have _left_ is

unknown." She finished, pursing her lips. Enjolras glared burningly at her, but, to his

frustration, her words were perfectly logical, and the best thing they could do at the

moment. He would look like an immature fool rejecting so rational an idea. "Fine.

Frères, those of you who are robust and young come with me to begin the barricade.

The rest of you stay here with Combeferre—"

"And I to go over our final procedures." Lynette cut in, apparently oblivious

to how much she was impelling Enjolras. He split the men evenly in half, then

stormed out the doors of the Café without another word. The second the doors had

swung shut, Grantaire, who had decided that this was just too entertaining a teasing

opportunity to pass up and gone with Enjolras, let out a laugh so thunderous

Enjolras was surprised when the surrounding windows didn't shatter. After he had

finished with his fit, he managed to wheeze, "Well… she really… got… the best… of

you! B—B—Blondinette! I wish I'd thoughta… that one!" he burst into another fit of

chortles, and Enjolras clenched his teeth to keep from knocking out his yellowed

teeth. "Ferme ta bouche, Grantaire, before I hit you so hard it'll shake Germany." He

growled, but Grantaire was fearless in his drunkenness, as usual, and found this

reaction all the more hysterical. "Ah, touchy, eh? Well I don't blame you ol' chap, I

would be to if I'd just gotten—"

"Enough, Grantaire!" Feuilly snapped, coming up from behind Enjolras with

Marius close at heel and staring the drunkard down. Grantaire could see he was now

outnumbered, and the joke had obviously worn thin, and he slunk off, joining the

others who were now stacking old furniture, overturned carts, and any other

resilient objects they could find to create the underpinning of the barricade. "Thank

you Feuilly, I was about to bash his head into the pavement." Enjolras mumbled

darkly. Feuilly nodded. Enjolras then turned to Marius. "And don't think I didn't see

you coming in _late_ Marius. What kept you?"

"'Ponine was showing me to the home of my beloved." Marius sighed with a

smile, but then bit his lip and straightened up when he saw Enjolras's expression.

"Marius, there is a battle approaching. It is so close, we can practically feel

the heat of its fiery rebellion blazing against our cheeks. So are you going to stand

with me as a child of this barricade, or are you going to be too engaged in you

reveries?" Enjolras inquired sternly. Marius hung his head, but it quickly snapped

back up as he remembered why Grantaire had been scolded in the first place.

"Enjolras, who _was_ that woman in there, and why did she say the plans were being

left with her?" Enjolras tensed, but then coolly replied, "Her name is Lynette, and

she's here to assist us in our rebellion. Now, off with you, this barricade isn't going

to build itself." Marius looked desperate for more detail on this girl who had dared

challenge Enjolras, but Feuilly gave him a look, and he immediately turned and

followed Grantaire's lead. Feuilly then turned back to Enjolras, whose face was set in

a grim scowl. "Come now, Enjolras, you must realize that she seems as used to

leading as you are, and that's why you clashed so." Feuilly attempted to reassure

him.

"She mocked me in front of all my men." Enjolras grumbled.

"You are being childish. We all know and respect you here, and that isn't

going to change because of one little dispute." Feuilly continued, clapping his back.

"It seems Grantaire thinks otherwise." Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms.

"Well if Grantaire has _ever_ been a good judge of _anything_, I must be a

Norwegian princess." Feuilly grinned, and Enjolras couldn't help but simper back.

"Unfortunately, you are making it most hard for me to wallow, Feuilly. Excuse

me now, I'm going to go retrieve a few furnishings I found from the storeroom."

"No floundering while you're gone then!" Feuilly teased. Enjolras shook his

head with a smile as he walked away. Feuilly always knew what to say, whether you

needed consolation or downright optimism. He went around the back, still,

shamefully, too discomfited to go in through the front, and entered the back

storeroom, sweeping it over with his eyes to find where he had left his fixtures. He

located the old table and jagged firewood in the far left corner and sauntered over,

stacking them prudently in his arms. He dropped one of the logs and blustered with

an exhale, then picked it up and turned to walk back out the door. Abruptly however,

he stopped in his tracks; not because he had dropped something, but because he had

heard a muffled speaking of his name. "_No one has ever spoken to Enjolras like that."_

He immediately recognized the voice to belong to Combeferre, and tensed slightly.

Was one of his closest friends mocking him behind his back?

"_Well it appears that I just did, did you not hear me?" _Lynette's soft voice

replied casually, and Enjolras' arm began to twitch in irritation, threatening to send

the stilted objects in his arms clattering to the ground.

"_No Mademoiselle, everyone heard you. And that, it would seem, is the real _

_problem."_

"_Why is that such an issue? Even the most powerful of leaders needs to be cut _

_down to size occasionally, lest he become conceited and egotistical." _

Enjolras clenched his teeth. _He_ was the one acting arrogant?

_"I hope you realize the hidden irony in those words, Miss Lynette." _

Enjolras smirked. Thank God for Combeferre.

_"You call me pretentious? What have I done so—"_

_ "You openly ridiculed our chief revolutionary in front of all the ones to be _

_fighting alongside him. Now, whether this is supercilious or not, would you not feel _

_angry and ashamed should the same have been done to you?" _

Silence. Enjolras smiled rather haughtily, feeling as if he himself had been the one to

prevail in that subtle debate, not Combeferre speaking for him.

_"I guess you are right, Monsieur. But you see, don't you agree that I was correct, _

_procedures and plots require protection surrounding them, and therefore the _

_barricade should have been built if not first, then simultaneously?" _

_ "There was great logic in your final proposal, and for that I applaud you. But _

_tell me Miss Lynette; were you truly fighting for the option you thought was right, or to _

_avoid being proven wrong?" _

More silence. Enjolras was past his leering and was now just listening in shock to the

words of his comrade.

_"Ah now you see? I think that is the real question here, and most certainly one _

_to which you already know the answer. Now Mademoiselle, it appears I am needed _

_elsewhere. But let me leave you with a final parting thought. In the grand scheme of _

_things, with so much at stake, it should matter little to be right. What really requires _

_accentuation is the disposition of working together, jointly uniting to strive towards _

_the common goal; freedom." _

There was no response from Lynette as Enjolras heard Combeferre get up and walk

away. He snapped out of his rather hazy wonder and scurried back out of the

storeroom, rushing back to where the barricade was slowly but surely rising. Feuilly

noticed his lack of a grimace immediately, and shouted over to him, "Feeling better

already, Enjolras?"

"Quite. Thanks again, Feuilly." He replied with a smile, though as of now

Feuilly had not gone unassisted in lightening his mood. He then joined his

companions in construction, working beneath the blazing heat of the morning sun to

finish the symbol of liberty itself.

**A/N: **** Hello my fabulous readers! (or potentially singular, haven't looked at the stats) I'm proud of myself; I managed to update **_**two**_** of my stories today! (and the other is also Les Mis related… God, I'm obsessed.) I'm sick, but I'm not complaining, considering I had so much time to do this! Whoo-hoo! **

**Well, there you have it. The clashing I promised. With two natural-born leaders in the room, you couldn't have possibly thought it was all going to be puppies and unicorns munching on rainbows, could you? **

**I just want to say how much I love ALL of the Les Amis. Grantaire with his drunken hilarity, Combeferre with his loyal and wise philosophical outlook, Feuilly with his cheeriness… I wish the were **_**Mis**_** Amis! **

**Lynette is so much fun to write. I have to think long and hard about her speeches, and what words will really make you stop and think and all that, but besides that, she's just a bucketful of fun to scribble up. **

**R&R, let me hear your innermost thoughts on this story! ~DonJuana**


	5. Chapter 5

Hour upon hour passed, and the barricade grew in mass until it seemed as though it

could touch the clouds. Enjolras was just giving the order to strengthen the southern

partition when Combeferre stuck his head out of the Café doors. "We've just finished

reviewing our final tactics, permission to switch stations?"

"Permission granted. Les Amis! Make your way into the café, quickly now!

We are interchanging posts." He called out to his faction. They nearly barreled

towards the door, desperate to get out of the blistering, scorching, June afternoon

sun. He waited until all of his men were inside and all of Combeferre and Lynette's

group had exited, then stepped forward to enter the building. But he found, to his

surprise, that it was blocked. "Enjolras, could I have a quick word with you?" Lynette

asked earnestly, and he could detect no joking tone in her voice. He nodded

cautiously, stepping inside with her. They sat down at one of the tables in the front

of the Café, and for a moment it was silent as he stared expectantly at her. She

caught his eye, hers shining so brilliantly, like they were filled with the sea itself, and

took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize for before. I let my pride get the best of

me, and humiliated you in the process. Can you ever forgive me?" His eyebrows shot

up in surprise. She was… _apologizing_? He'd known her for a day and a half and

already knew that this was out of character and rarer than a blue moon. "I suppose

so." He murmured, looking down at the table. He heard her sigh in respite, and

looked up to see her flashing him a dazzling, relieved smile. "Thank you. I guess we

haven't exactly joined forces until we've actually started working together, huh?" He

laughed. "That's undoubtedly true. So, how did the final provisions go?" Her eyes lit

up, rekindling the fervent flame he'd seen in them whenever her passion was

spoken of. "Oh, everything is perfect! We've assigned all those in my group a watch,

with Bahorel taking his rotation now, checked all the weapons, gone over the

emergency procedures for nearly all potential situations, step-by-step explained

strategies; I honestly think we're practically ready." She smiled excitedly.

"Fantastic. We're so close…" he trailed off, closing his eyes with a grin and

picturing the victory he desired so ardently.

"They were genius, by the way." Lynette continued, speaking softer. He

opened his eyes and thought he saw a tint of color in her tanned cheeks.

"What were?" he asked curiously, blinking a few times to see if she, the

fearless Lynette, was actually blushing.

"Some of the stratagems you laid out. Ciphers, configurations, endorsements;

you truly thought of everything." She explained, smiling diffidently.

"Wh—why thank you. It's only my life's work, nothing special." He teased,

and she laughed punctually.

"Yes, just my pride and joy; just the humdrum, monotonous routine." They

laughed harmoniously, and then Enjolras said, "And I've got to hand it to you, by the

way."

"On what grounds?" she asked, still chuckling slightly.

"I've never heard Blondinette before, very original."

She threw back her head and laughed wholeheartedly, the contagious sound making

him snicker again as well. Her laugh was high and jovial like a birdcall, especially

when it was as clear and lurid as this. After she had calmed down, she replied, "Well,

that's probably because no one would dare mock you here. After you'd gone outside

they kept coming up to me and saying things like, "Did you really just call Monsieur

Enjolras _Blondinette_?" They were absolutely mortified!" she giggled.

"I'm secretly relieved they still respect and fear me; I thought they would all

follow your lead once you had so palpably laid it out." He chuckled nervously.

"No worries Monsieur, you're safe for now." She joked, beaming.

"Enjolras! How much longer are you going to keep us waiting?" Lesgles called

from the band of rebels now assembled in the back of the room.

"Coming, Lesgles!" he called back, standing up.

"Duty calls." Lynette chuckled.

"And rather vociferously at that." He added, smiling teasingly before turning

and walking back to the development area.

"Alright men, first off, most of the watches have been appointed, but there

are three fifty-minute shifts still vacant…" he began, running his fingers over the

parchment he knew so intimately.

~~o~x~0~x~o~~

Lynette grabbed her coat and prepared to leave for the day. It had been such a

wonderfully successful and progressive day, and she could hardly believe that by

this time the following day, the fight will have begun. She shivered in a rather

contradictory terrified delight, mentally checking off all the things which had been

accomplished these last few hours. The plans of action had been memorized, the

barricade was nearly finished, the weapons had been counted, ready to be

distributed, the men all knew their place, and the entire coalition was humming with

anticipation. '_The era of freedom is so deliciously near…'_ she thought with a grin. Her

mind flickered to Enjolras, who most certainly would have concurred and beamed

had she told him this. It was almost… frightening how alike they were, personality

wise. Both stubborn, natural-born leaders, strong, intelligent, mostly positive

(though quick to anger), generous, and passionately in love with their homeland, the

Republic, and ideas of liberty. She snapped back from her musings when she heard a,

"Good evening, Miss Lynette." She looked up from where she was leaning against a

table to see one of the younger revolutionaries, the one who'd come in late, nodding

to her with a smile.

"Have a lovely night, Delayed-In-Arrival." She winked back, and he blushed.

In truth, no one had told her his name, so she'd quickly thought of a witticism to

cover that point up.

"Mon dieu, does everyone know?" he groaned.

"Forgive me Monsieur, I didn't mean to upset you. Your name simply escaped

me, so honestly, I was just trying to hide the fact." It was her turn to blush, but he

seemed much more at ease. "Oh. Well, I'm Marius."

"Well then, have a lovely night, _Marius_." She laughed.

"A lovely night it shall indeed be!" he sighed dreamily before stepping out.

"Well, alright then." She murmured to herself. She stood up and walked to the

back of the Café, retrieving some documents Joly had asked her to take home. "We

can't risk losing these, and my flat is so cluttered and cramped it's probably best to

leave them in your care." He'd chuckled. She smiled at the thought of the merry

medic, and all of his amis, for that matter. Enjolras had been right this morning;

most of the men she'd met today had been most convivial, very polite and sensible.

She regretted being so quick to judge, especially with Combeferre. She'd been very

irritated with him that morning when he'd been so curt about her gender, but, as the

day went on, took a great liking to him. He was one of the most intellectual of the

bunch, next to Enjolras of course, and reminded her much of her older brother;

tranquil, kind, and fiercely protective. She admired his loyalty as he jumped to

Enjolras' defense after she'd teased him, and was left fascinated with his pensive

words. "Mademoiselle Lynette?" she suddenly heard from behind her. She snapped

back once again from her thoughts and turned to see a bedraggled girl standing

before her, hand resting on her grimy arm rather awkwardly. Her hair was the color

of rust, matted and tangled, and her eyes, the only glittering thing about her

appearance-wise, were the color of emeralds. She wore a torn skirt which nearly

reached her ankles in length, but was so worn and grungy Lynette could not tell

what its original color could have been. The same went for her blouse, which was

threadbare, ripped in several areas, and hanging off of her limply, the only thing

keeping it from slipping down completely being a piece of twine tied around her

waist. On her feet were a pair of sizeable men's boots, caked in mud and so

dilapidated that it looked as if the soles would fall right out the bottom. And sitting

proudly atop her head was a brown newsboy's cap, the weathered but freshest piece

of her attire. "Yes! Hello… um…" Lynette started, biting her lip as she tried to match

the girl's face with a name. The girl laughed weakly, barely a wheeze, and said,

"Forgive me, m'am, I don't think we've properly met. My name is Éponine."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Éponine." Lynette smiled at her, bowing her

head in greeting. Éponine blushed, color rising to her dirty cheeks. "I'm no Miss

m'am, but I appreciate you calling me such."

"Of course you are, every woman is valued enough in the eyes of God to

deserve such a title. Now, can I help you with something?" Lynette asked kindly.

"Well first off, I gotta 'and it to you, m'am—"

"Please, call me Lynette."

"Alright, thank you Lynette. Well, as I was saying, I greatly admire your

strength. I've never seen _anyone_ counter Monsieur Enjolras, and yet you did so

without a wince." Éponine said, shaking her head in awe. Lynette laughed. "Why,

thank you my girl, looking back now I'm not particularly proud of it, but merci just

the same."

"Yes, I've done a little sassin' myself in my years, but Monsieur Enjolras? I

certainly couldn't do it." She laughed that weak little laugh again.

"Well, thanks again. Now, how can I help you, Éponine?" Lynette asked her,

smiling.

"Well right now, I just need an open ear. Never been able to talk to another

woman 'bout my troubles, y' see, and 'since you're the leader 'round here, and I

greatly esteem you, I figure maybe you'll be able to give me some useful advice."

Éponine explained, glancing down, embarrassed.

"You're too kind, dear. I'll try my best to help you. But… and forgive my

curiosity… no other women to talk to? Not one? What of your mother, Éponine?"

Lynette inquired. Éponine laughed, short and sharp. "My mother? I doubt she'd care

enough to listen, and if she did she'd just mock me."

"Oh. That's… very unfortunate. I'm sorry." Lynette stuttered cumbersomely.

"Nah, it's alright. Used to it, y' see?" Éponine replied casually.

"Well anyway… back to this problem of yours." Lynette began, attempting to

steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable subject.

"Oh yes! Well, as many problems do, this one revolves around love." Éponine

told her with a sigh.

"Ah… the course of love never did run smooth." Lynette smiled sadly.

"I think I've… 'eard that someplace before." Éponine said, wrinkling her brow

in thought.

"It's a quote by Shakespeare." Lynette justified.

"Oh yes! I've 'eard of 'im." Éponine smiled as if relieved by the

comprehension.

"Well, as it turns out, I'm not very experienced in the world of love, Éponine.

Perhaps someone else could better advise you." Lynette told her with a frown.

"No, please! I truly 'ave no one else I can go to… I know I've just met you, but I

'ave so few friends. And none of the dearth are women." Éponine pleaded her.

Lynette nodded. "Alright, I'll try."

"Well y' see, there's this man. I've loved 'im dearly for ages now, but 'e doesn't

see it. 'E just sees me as a friend, nothin' more. And I know I should be grateful for

that, but it just 'urts…" Éponine started, tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped them

away quickly with her wrist, then continued. "I've tried everything to make 'im see,

but 'e's completely oblivious! And now 'e's fallen in love with this other girl… a girl

with golden curls and pretty, pale, rosy cheeks; a girl who's soft and clean and rich.

And worst of all, since 'e thinks of me as 'is best friend, 'e begs me to 'elp 'im win 'er

'eart! Just this mornin', in fact, 'e asked me to show 'im where she lives. So I did,

though it killed me inside, just to see 'im smile, just to make 'im 'appy!" More tears

came, and this time she let them spill down over her cheeks, leaving clean, rinsed

paths as they went. "I stayed and watched them together y' see, and they were all

sentimental and adoring and proclaiming their love for each other; and then they

kissed before me. I've never felt a pain greater, Lynette, but I forced myself to stay

anyway, thinkin', "Maybe if I stay and see 'im so 'appy with 'er, it'll 'elp me to move

on." But no, it didn't, those thoughts just soon turned to, "No 'Ponine, 'e was never

yours to lose; so why regret what never could 'ave been?" But I just love 'im so,

Lynette. And yet, "I love you" is something 'e'll never say. Or, not to me, at least.

Never to me…" she trailed off, blubbering, obviously fighting back sobs. Lynette took

her rough, frail hands in her own and pushed her chin up to look her in the eyes.

"Éponine, I'm so sorry that you've had to go through all this. I may not be an expert

when it comes to love, but I know that losing someone, or rather, losing someone

then having to _watch _them find happiness elsewhere, must be a pain worse than any

other." She watched as Éponine nodded in agreement, lip trembling like a small

child. Lynette took ahold of her bony shoulders and waited until their eyes met, then

said, "But if this man is too blind to see that he has such a witty, strong, beautiful girl

right in front of him, he doesn't deserve that witty, strong, beautiful girl." Éponine

snorted. "Beautiful my arse, forgive my cussing, m'am. I'm practically made of dirt,

my eyes are sunken in, my nose is oddly shaped, and I'm skinnier than a beanstalk.

The girl 'e loves is everything I'm not; the biggest difference bein' 'er delicate beauty."

"How wrong you are Éponine. You are indeed beautiful, on the outside as

well as within. Maybe life's treated you a bit rough, maybe you're a bit course

around the edges; but I'm sure someday you'll find a man who sees that radiant fire

that shines within you and loves you just the way you are." Lynette said softly,

patting her shoulders. Éponine sniffled, looking up at Lynette with a shy smile. "You

really think so? No one's ever said something so kind to me."

"Of course. Every word is true. Besides, in my opinion, an independent, fiery

woman is better than those fragile, ornate ladies so in need of rescuing by their

knights in shining armor." Lynette told her, laughing. Éponine giggled, stronger this

time. "Well, I certainly can fend for myself, though sometimes my quick temper gets

the best of me."

"All the better. Your bite is just as bad as your bark." Lynette winked. Éponine

laughed, fully and heartily, then looked back at Lynette, a twinkle in her eye. "It's

dreadfully 'ard to believe, you know." She said.

"What is?" Lynette asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"That you're not, as you say, 'experienced with love'. You're strikingly loverly,

Lynette." She added shyly.

"Oh, let's not start with tall tales, Éponine. I'm just another woman." Lynette

replied humbly, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"No, really! I would think you'd 'ave as many suitors as there are stars in the

sky! That's another reason I originally came to you. I thought you would 'ave callers

lef' and right, and be able to 'elp a poor, lonely waif of a girl with a li'l heartbreak of

'er own." She sighed, and Lynette patted her shoulder.

"Well, thank you, Éponine. But honestly, I've never really noticed men all that

much before. I've been so caught up in revolutions, politics, and freedom lately that

if I did have any admirers, I certainly didn't see them there. I guess you could say I'm

engaged to Patria." She laughed. Éponine smiled. "That's what Enjolras says."

"Does he now?" Lynette asked with a smile, raising an eyebrow.

"All the time! Or so Mar—I mean, my friend tells me." she stuttered in reply.

'_Ah, so Marius is the culprit she speaks of,'_ Lynette thought. She couldn't say she was

all that surprised; she'd thought the girl looked familiar, and now she recalled how

she'd seen her tailing the boy like a second shadow. He truly was blind, poor girl.

"Well, I guess he and I will have to share him then. Surely he's big enough for the

both of us." Lynette laughed, getting back on topic.

"I guess so." Éponine grinned toothily. Then she looked out the window,

which had begun to darken with the coming of the night. "Well, I best be going. I

have a few things to attend to." She continued, getting up and turning away. Lynette

shook her head sadly. "You're going to find him, aren't you?" Éponine stopped in her

tracks, freezing mid-step. Lynette took a casual sip of ale, waiting for the girl to reply.

"Yes." She heard, quiet and shamefaced.

"Send him my best." Lynette said, holding back a sigh.

"I will. And Lynette? Thank you. It's nice just… to talk about it to someone."

Éponine looked back, green eyes practically glittering like true emeralds in the low

lighting.

"You're welcome, Miss Éponine." Lynette replied. The girl did a sort of clumsy

curtsy, then turned and scurried out of the Café. Lynette watched her go sadly,

thinking, '_The forlorn girl has a heart __full__ of love, though the object of her fixation will _

_never feel the same. Poor, poor, little Éponine.' _She then turned back and collected the

last of the papers, placing them carefully in a bag and walking out the door. As she

stepped out into the cool night air, a drastic change in temperature from the burning

heat of the day and even the stuffy warmth of the Café, she tilted her head up for a

moment to look at the moon, which was about a quarter of the way full; milky and

peaceful, shining with a soft light into the pitch darkness of the night. She followed

its tender rays all the way to where they rested upon the barricade; opaque, looming,

and silently declaring the impending adrenaline and danger of the coming day. She

inched closer and saw that old furniture and carts were not the only things currently

contributing to the bulk of their blockade. Enjolras sat, his back to her, on top of the

barricade, lost in thought. She put down her bag without thinking and began to

climb, silent as a cat, to sit beside him. "Good evening, Enjolras." She said quietly. He

jumped a bit at the sound of her voice and turned to look at her. "Oh! Good evening

Lynette. Are you on your way out then?"

"Well I was, then I saw you perched up here." She explained.

"And?" he asked, cocking his head. She realized he must be curious as to why

she chose to come up instead of just leaving and felt heat rising to her cheeks. Why

in the world was that? "Wanted to see if the view was worth it." She teased in a sort

of quick recovery.

"Ah. And what is your inference?" he asked, chuckling.

"Hmm…" she smiled, glancing around. "Not bad, actually. Especially on such a

lovely night."

"Indeed. " he muttered back, but he didn't seem to be talking to her anymore,

with the way he was staring out at some distant reverie. A brief silence settled over

them, but neither minded as it was easier to observe the beauty of the

imperturbable night before them with a scarcity of conversation. But after a while,

Enjolras looked up at the moon, sighing, "One more day before the storm…" A grin

stretched across Lynette's face, and her heartbeat quickened at the mention of the

pending stimulation. "At these barricades of freedom." She added, running her hand

over the unwieldy structure beneath her.

"Just think; there's a new world for the winning but a day away!" he breathed,

eyes widening with his smile, sparkling in the dark. He had brown eyes, she noticed,

the color of dark chocolate. She'd only had dark chocolate once in her entire life; for

her twelfth birthday, when her mother managed to scrape together enough money

to buy her two, just two, of the delectable little candies. They were the most

delicious things she'd ever tasted, but, like many good things in life, they hadn't

lasted very long. She'd appreciated them just the same, however, because chocolate

wasn't cheap, and her mother had gotten her _two whole candies_. It was a memory

she held dear to her heart, and this realization brought it flashing back. She looked

away, gathering that she'd been staring at him. "Yes… one more day to a new

beginning, one where _everyone_ will be a king." She augmented, closing her eyes for

but a moment to picture it. Democracy, the people's voices being heard… it was a

vast goal, and it certainly would not come easy, but even events of great historical

significance has to start somewhere. "E—Exactly. Where not just one decides the

fates of many, but many decide the fate of the country as one." Enjolras faltered,

mouth agape in surprise. He knew it should stop coming as a shock how

knowledgeable and erudite she was, but it hadn't yet. Her words were among the

most prevailingly influential he'd ever heard.

"Precisely. I mean, just think of the good a republic would do for Patria! Civil

liberties, equality, true freedom from oppression… but I guess tomorrow we'll have

to find out what our Lord on high has planned for us and our country." She yearned

languorously.

"Hopefully it'll come out in our favor." Enjolras muttered, looking down at his

folded hands.

"Are you… frightened at all? Have you thought about the other, more…

macabre possibility?" she whispered.

"Isn't that why we are hopeful? Because such a possibility exists?" he sighed.

"I keep telling myself to just… think encouragingly, picture the victorious outcome.

But every so often, those rather… adverse, undesirable thoughts will slip through

the barrier I've built up so carefully in my mind. And it's not so much my life I fear

for. I've already made my choice; if a liability should emerge requiring payment in

lives, I will be the first to step forward. It is my friends, Les Amis, and their wellbeing,

that makes me anxious. So many lives at stake… and yet, though I know that the

cause is so monumental, a few lost lives are nothing, I wish they didn't have to take

that risk." He finished weakly.

"I understand. I've known these men for but a day, so I cannot possibly feel

this terror to the extent that you do, but knowing all that is at stake, I can at least try

to acclimatize what you're going through. Especially with men of such good conduct,

such charisma!" she smiled.

"Ah, you see? What did I tell you? I knew you'd find them generally well-

mannered once you got past Grantaire." He chuckled, crossing his arms in

satisfaction.

"Well I must admit… I was a bit doubtful at first, even after he had made his

exit. When Combeferre disdained me for my gender? I thought it was going to be a

long day. But I got to know him better as the day went on, and he's a very good man.

Very loyal and levelheaded. I enjoyed his company." She nodded at him contently.

"He's one of the best friends I've ever had. I've known him since childhood,

you see." Enjolras expounded, looking over to her.

"It shows. He was quick to… correct me after I'd taunted you." She conveyed.

"I know." He snorted before he could stop himself. Her eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean, 'I know'?"

"I was sort of listening." He winked, and her mouth dropped open in fake

shock, though she was giggling. "You little snoop!" she laughed, hitting him lightly on

the arm.

"I wasn't actually spying, I'd gone to get some supplies from the storeroom

and overheard that most interesting conversation." He laughed in jest.

"That's what they all say. You know, my good sir, the punishment for such

treason is…" she began smoothly, then all of a sudden he found his neck encircled by

something thick and leathery. His instinct told him to jerk away, but when he tried

he found his head being pulled in Lynette's direction. "Hanging." He heard her

whisper, so close he could feel her warm, tickling breath on his ear. Then, she

laughed and released him as soon as she'd snagged him. He was too stunned to be

angry, and instead found himself saying, "Very… swift." She laughed again, like a bell

or a bird's call sounding clear in the stillness of the night. "Well, I should probably

get going. I'll see you tomorrow, when we shall raise our flag of freedom high!" she

said, and he could hear the elation in her voice lucidly.

"Indeed. Good night then, Lynette." He smiled politely as she stood up.

"You should probably be heading home too, a leader needs his sleep." She

suggested, putting her hand on her hip with a grin.

"I'll be leaving soon. I just need a little more time to think first." He explicated,

rising up out of his sedentary position.

"Right then. Have a nice night, and I'll see you in the morning." She bowed her

head, sticking out her hand. He hesitated briefly. '_Come now, Enjolras. Why is she any _

_different from any other women you've parted with in your lifetime?' _After a moment,

he took her hand in his and kissed it. When he straightened, he saw her eyebrows

arched in a sort of amused surprise. "Well, a handshake would have been fine, but

that was… satisfactory as well." He turned away, blushing furiously. "That is how a

gentleman courteously bids a lady farewell, is it not?" he asked hastily, slightly tense.

"Forgive me, Enjolras, I'm just not exactly used to such polite, proper

behavior. So thank you." She shot him a kind smile.

"Alright, you're welcome then. Goodnight." He relaxed, her jest-free smile

reassuring him. He watched her gracefully jump off the barricade and disappear

down the street, subconsciously shaking his head. She was just so full lively fire. She

could go from being as kind and gentle as a lamb to as fierce as a lion in the blink of

an eye, and, all while retaining this guise, make you laugh until your sides split… at

yourself, no less. It was almost eerie, she was captivatingly clever without seeming

to know it. And her eyes… they had so much vigor, so much energy, it was like they

were people themselves. They reflected her expression of emotions so, she was a

perfect example of the old proverb, "the eyes are a window into the soul." Sharp,

liberal, optimistic, fearless, strong, passionate.

**A/N: ****Bonjour, ma ****lecteurs impressionnants! I hope you're all doing well. I certainly am, for two reasons! The first being that this is an extra long chapter! Good thing, too. Because I'm heading to London this week to see the one… the only… Les Mis! WITH RAMIN KARIMLOO! I'll let you know in the next A/N how it all went down. **

**Anyway, back to the story. Yay! Lynette and Enjolras have made up! I don't know about you, but I'm glad. It's much better when they're on the same side. ) Also, what'd you guys think of my little 'Ponine bit? I know that technically it was at night that she showed Marius Rue Plumet, but I had to change it a bit so that it fit in context for this fanfic. **

**R&R, I love hearing from you with all your questions and/or critiques! ~DonJuana**


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras awoke from a thankfully dreamless night to the light of the dawning sun

shining in from the windowpane. He stretched and got up, walking over to it and

throwing open the shutter, letting the fresh morning breathe coolly on his cheeks.

He closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his eyelids, feeling the pleasurable contrast

between crisp summer morning air and the warmth of the sun's rays. '_Today's the _

_day.'_ He thought abruptly, mind now fully alert after this refreshing wake-up call. As

soon as the thought was realized, he suddenly felt a hastened sense of urgency, for

they only had the coming morning to finish preparations, and there was still much

left to do. He quickly dressed and preformed his daily ritual of analyzing the entire

apartment for anything forgotten of vitality, then flew out the door with the

eagerness and anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. He rushed out onto the

street and began jogging in the direction of the ABC, grinning in spite of himself. He

hoped that even if the other Les Amis weren't as unbelievably exhilarated by the

day's pending events, they would at least feel the excitement and tension in the air

and arrive soon after he did. _'If Marius is late __again__ today…'_ he thought, marginally

irritated. He turned the corner and saw their colossal barricade looming proudly in

the distance, and the sight sent shivers racing up and down his spine. Seeing their

fulsome obstruction casting vast shadows across the cobblestone was like a

premonition of the daring actions to be preformed today, and it thrilled him to no

end. As he approached it he felt as if he was caught in some kind of gravitational

pull; even if he had been brusquely diffident or hesitant, he couldn't have taken a

step backwards. "Enjolras!" someone called, and he tore his gaze away from his

precious blockade to see Lynette sprinting up the street. Her stride was graceful as a

leaping buck, and today her hair was lose and flowing, her brown curls flying out

wildly behind her, looking like lively russet flames or brunette dancers, dynamically

twirling about. She caught up with him in seconds, and he smiled at her. "Good

morning, Lynette. Up again early, I see?"

"Of course! Do you expect me to sleep soundly when today we engage in the

battle of the century?" she exclaimed, eyes alive and sparkling.

"Not unless I myself could do the same." He laughed, and she chimed in.

"But now comes a new issue." She stated, face growing serious.

"And what might that be?" he asked curiously.

"Having to sit around l'café for at least an _hour_ while waiting for the rest of

our ranks to show up." She sulked, but he saw the laughter in her eyes.

"Oh my, whatever shall we do? What torture could possibly be greater?" he

sighed, playing along.

"After waiting so long for this coming crusade, having to wait an hour more?

I'm not sure I can make it." She laughed like a bird.

"Hmm… perhaps a quick walk would keep our mind from the suspense of the

delay?" he suggested with a grin.

"Hmm… perhaps you're right. That might just do the trick!" she agreed with a

wink.

"Alright then, after you." He chuckled, gesturing out in front of him.

"Why, thank you Monsieur." She grinned regally in jest. They began walking

down the way she had come, for that was the direction of the park (which, with the

time taken to get there and back plus the amount it would take to saunter the

perimeter, would take up their time almost perfectly). It was quiet for a few minutes,

for when the revolution was not involved, they both found it more difficult to begin

a conversation. Luckily, Lynette especially found the silence very uncomfortable and

attempted to break it. "So… when did you decide that you wanted to be a student?"

she inquired.

"The moment I realized there was more out there to learn." He laughed.

"Course, I couldn't exactly begin right after this realization, considering I was about

thirteen or fourteen years old, but that was the moment I decided that my

homeschooling lessons just weren't enough for me."

"My, such a young age for such a life-changing decision." She said approvingly.

"Quite, but I was infatuated with the idea of such extensive knowledge,

especially as my father filled my head with recent government movements and his

opinions of them, I wanted to form my own, you see, and could, within certain

boundaries, but I knew I would never be able to reform and enhance them unless I

understood them to their full extent." He explained. She nodded thoughtfully. "That

was very wise a conclusion. I mean, most teenaged boys would rather _die_ than admit

that they don't know everything." She laughed.

"I suppose that's true, but I guess my hunger for erudition was stronger than

even my pride." He chuckled.

"Stronger than your _pride_? Your fervency towards education must have had

the strength of a hundred armies!" she laughed, a challenge sparkling in her eyes. He

accepted her baited hook with a smile on his face. "Well, if my pride has the strength

of a hundred armies, _yours_ must have the vivacity of a thousand." He fired back. Her

eyebrows arched, but she looked amusedly impressed. "Well Blondinette, look

who's gone from sulking when teased to retorting right back in just a day?"

"Well, one has to get used to the caustic remarks when they come so often."

He confronted teasingly.

"I applaud you Enjolras; now that you've gained this exemption, you'll have

made it much harder for me to incite and tease you." She winked, still grinning.

"With your stubborn, determined nature, however, I'm sure you'll find a way

nevertheless." He replied.

"My, you catch on fast." She snorted haughtily. At this point, they arrived at

the park, and, beginning down the path, they grew quiet again. But the silence was

short-lived as they were both more comfortable than they'd been upon embarking

on their miniscule endeavor. "So the men were telling me of their studies yesterday,

and it made me curious, for I don't know anything about yours. What is your major?"

she asked, looking at him curiously. He didn't reply for a moment, but he realized

she was waiting for his reply, so he sheepishly said, "Actually… I don't have a specific

major yet." Her shocked expression asked a silent question. "I know how strange

that must sound, but I haven't chosen a single field to focus on yet. I mostly just

jump around from area to area, try a little bit of everything." He explained.

"You didn't decide to be a student because you wanted to learn about a

specific field?" she asked, surprised.

"That is correct. I've been here for years and yet I have no idea what I'm

going to do when I leave." He laughed shortly.

"Well, out of the things you study, do you have a favorite?" she questioned.

"Well, learning about history and the law has been interesting. Unfortunately,

I am much too vehement about my own opinions and thoughts to ever go into that

area of employment," he chuckled, "and about a year back I attempted to learn

alongside Joly in medicine, but it… wasn't the right field for me." He grimaced.

Shocking as it may be, the fearless, resilient Enjolras had not been fond of his

medical studies. He was completely adequate with the situation until Joly had

brought forth a real human specimen, and Enjolras realized that he had seen this

very man alive and breathing just a few days before, begging on the streets for coins.

After that he'd become greatly disquieted, and at one point during the dissection,

he'd even had to leave the room. After that day, he'd halted in his medical efforts,

something about seeing that man living but a few days afore leaving him completely

solicitous. Had the man been a stranger, had Enjolras never before laid eyes on him

before his remains were placed in front of him, would he have been able to carry out

the mock procedure, he did not know. All he knew was that something about the

trice had disturbed him, and he was not about to turn back and find out. "Well, even

if you have not yet made up your mind, it's good you're taking your time. Things like

this should not be rushed." Lynette said, bringing him back from his reminiscence.

"You—you really think so?" he said, startled. He'd expected her to push a

decision, or at least make a joke out of his irresolution.

"Of course! I mean; this is something that you could end up doing for the rest

of your life. You want to be certain it's something you love, so that you don't make

the mistake of choosing the wrong occupation." She replied seriously.

"Exactly! That's mostly what I've perceived all along, but every once in a

while, I'm reminded that…" he trailed off, frown setting in on his face.

"What?" she asked vigilantly.

"That I have almost no idea what I'm going to do with my life." He told her

quietly, looking down with a stony expression.

"As a man thinketh, so is he; as a man chooseth, so is he." She smiled kindly,

stopping.

"Ralph Waldo Emerson?" Enjolras inquired, halting and turning to face her.

"Yes. Enjolras, you're twenty-six years old. You have your whole life ahead of

you, and just because you haven't figured out what profession you want to pursue

doesn't mean you never will. You need to take your time and focus on _now_ instead of

pondering the future; for you're in your prime, you're about to lead a gloriously

exhilarating revolution against oppression itself, and you know well as I do that

you're knowledgeable and adroit enough that once the day comes when you find

your ideal field, you'll know in a heartbeat." She finished, staring at him earnestly

with her eyes of living sea. He stared back, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. Her words,

as usual, made their way into his innermost core, stunning him like ice water in his

veins. But this time, unlike times before, that potent, formidable speech was

_complimenting_ him. Lynette, patron of cynicism, wit, and lively fire, had just

complimented him. As soon as he'd taken a few moments of flummoxed silence to

recover from this sudden comprehension, he managed to force out, "Well, uh…

thank you, Lynette. That really does mean a lot." She nodded, smiling amiably. "Don't

thank me, I simply verified what was already there."

"No, you did more than that. You listened and understood exactly what I was

conflicted over, then gave me your opinion and advice tailored to the situation. I

greatly appreciate your input." He told her honestly.

"And that in itself is appreciated on my part. My opinion is not always as

valued as it is in this moment." She replied, a frown creeping onto her face. His brow

furrowed. "How could anyone ignore your opinion? You and they are both rather…

lurid." He teased lightly. A semblance of a grin twitched on her lips, but its existence

was fleeting and transitory. "Believe me, it has been proven possible in the past.

Why do you think I run around starting rallies and planning revolutions?" she

smirked slightly, then continued, "Those I am close to would all tell me the same

thing. 'Young women like you should not be involved in politics', or, 'It is completely

unladylike to speak in such a way'. Hell, I've even heard, 'Such a waste… she has such

a lovely mien, yet she'll never get any callers, running around with such riotous

ideas." She finished bitterly, but from the expression in her eyes and the way she

had suddenly found the cobblestones fascinating, he could tell these rude comments

had wounded her. He found himself angry. How could anyone scorn such a

vivaciously wonderful gift as hers? How could someone be so obscene as to put

down this woman who simply longed for the freedom and renewal of her homeland?

"Who? Who 'close to you' has said these things?" he asked, trying to keep his tone

calm. She didn't look up. "Well, my aunt was the worst of them. Whenever she'd visit

she'd spend half her time waiting and watching like a vulture for the opportunity to

ridicule me, and the other half carrying out the action."

"Your own aunt? Why?" he asked in disoriented aversion.

"I never quite figured that out. I just know that as soon as she figured out

what my main point of interest was, she hated the very ground I walked upon." She

scowled.

"And… what of the rest of your family?" he inquired warily.

"My brother defended me, bless his heart, and for that she was never fond of

him either. And my mother… she never said anything against me, but I think she was

ashamed that her daughter was so 'different'. She'd always say, 'Please, Netta, not

while Aunt Virginie is here.' And if I did get into a dispute with my aunt, she'd never

meet my eyes."

"And your aunt is there… often?" he asked.

"Sometimes I doubt she even has her own home." She laughed, short and cold.

"That's atrocious. I'm sorry you had to go through that. But really Lynette,

I'm sure your mother isn't ashamed. I'm sure she's just conflicted; she doesn't want

to lose the respect of her sister, but neither does she want to lose the love of her

daughter." He suggested.

"Still, if she truly did love me, wouldn't she have said _something_ to my aunt?"

she stated, exhasperated.

"That I have no answer to, for though 'perfect love cannot be without

equality', perhaps she simply believes you sovereign enough to handle it on your

own."

"That's a… Scottish proverb?" she asked casually.

"Correct."

The fell silent again, leaving Enjolras alone with his thoughts. It still rendered him

nonplussed that someone could resist, let alone eschew, her ideas. His thoughts

raced with her aunt's scathing comments, especially the last one she'd dictated.

'_Such a lovely mien… she'll never get any callers… with such riotous ideas…' _Virginie

couldn't have been more wrong there, for before Lynette had even stepped into the

ABC, men had approached her. And that was before she'd even spoken… Enjolras

was surprised most of them weren't _completely _hypnotized with rapture. He glanced

at her out of the corner of his eye, her smooth face puckered in irascibility. The

relative had been right about one detail at least. '_Such a lovely mien…'_ She was a

strikingly beautiful girl, and, just as he had the morning before, he found himself

staring. How could she have reached such substantial perfection without even

realizing it? And worse yet, how could her own family look at her, distinguish her as

comely, then call her a _waste_? His teeth subconsciously clenched in irritation

beneath his sealed lips. It was such a dreadfully demeaning comment; no one,

especially someone so remarkable, should be called such. After several minutes of

this thoughtful, nearly overwrought silence, he heard her sigh and looked over to

see the resentment vanished from her face, an expression of dejection the only thing

left. "It's just… difficult. They want to change me, but I love my country and my

exhilarating notions of liberty and equality too much to be the proper woman they

want me to be. I barely spend time at home now; I rent out an apartment when she

visits and will only step foot in the place if she's long gone. Even when she is, and it

is just my family and I, I have to keep my opinions to myself, and I can't _stand_ it.

Being away from the one thing I am truly passionate about kills me a little inside. So,

I trek around speaking in self-created rallies, connecting with the people over the

common longing for autonomy, and joining forces with fierce blonde rebels." She

laughed weakly before continuing with, "But ever since I formulated my own

opinions, all I've wanted was to be heard. For my words and beliefs to actually

matter." She finished quietly, looking down at the path once more. He looked at her

doleful face in a livid state of awe. How could she have been driven to the point

where she believed that her thrilling words did not matter? How could someone

have knowingly deprived her of the thing she felt most fervently about? It was

almost… disquieting to see this strong, confident woman so upset, so vulnerable.

And he knew he couldn't just stand there and let her continue thinking that way.

"Lynette, saying that your voice doesn't matter is about as accurate as saying that

the government is filled with just, patient, knowledgeable men who actually care

about their people." He told her with a short laugh. She couldn't help grinning back,

but the smile didn't reach her eyes, lighting up like the Caribbean blue flames they

usually were. He could see that a joke was not enough to completely elevate her

somber mood. A serious expression resettled on his face, and he said, "But honestly,

witticisms aside, I mean it every time I say your speeches and informed ideas and

opinions are among the most imperative and dominant I've ever heard. Even my

professors couldn't speak more vivaciously and perspicaciously than you, and

anyone who thinks your statements and beliefs don't matter or just won't listen to

them is a fool and an imbecile who obviously has no idea what true speaking

endowment really is." He finished, looking her in the eyes with the asceticism of a

mortician. She stared back, eyes wide with a look of shocked astonishment. A few

silent, stagnant moments passed, and they just looked at each other in esteem. It

was in these few moments when Enjolras suddenly and without warning realized

just how close Lynette was. He could feel her bag up against his side, the heat

coming off her arm, her breath tickling his face as she looked back at him with those

glittering eyes. Her obvious shock at his statement was clear on her face, and it

looked so torpidly innocent, he nearly laughed. He was just so unused to seeing this

merciless spitfire of a girl looking so susceptible. But the silence was broken by her

quiet, "Thank you Enjolras. I really appreciate your saying that. It's nice knowing

that some think of me that way."

"More than some. What do we have in ranks, thirty-two men? And they all

seem to see you as the greatest and most authoritative person who's ever lived." He

chuckled, reminiscing the expressions of his comrades after they'd first heard

Lynette speak.

"Apart from you, of course." She stated.

"No, I think even there you have me beat." He replied, grinning.

"You must be joking. Some of the men in there… it's like they think you're

God himself in the flesh. They regard you so highly; to them, you are one of the

world's most scholarly and resilient leaders." She told him sincerely.

"God in the flesh? I highly doubt it." He snorted, shaking his head.

"You'd be surprised Enjolras." She smiled amusedly at him. She then glanced

up at the rising sun, saying, "We should probably be heading back. If _we're_ the ones

late today, I think the world might just burst into flames." She laughed, the clear,

bird's song chortle he was by now used to hearing.

"Very true, I don't know if the universe could handle the implementation of

such a seemingly impossible feat." He snickered in reply.

"But before we head back and the coming battle enslaves my thought process

once more, I just want to make sure you know that I am extremely grateful for your

listening to my woes. You're very easy to talk to, Enjolras." She told him with a shy

smile.

"Oh. Yes… you're welcome. Thank you for your advice." He nodded. She

grinned, flashing her set of brilliant white teeth, then said, "How about a race?"

"Is that really the best idea? With combat so close, I doubt we should be

wasting our energy on foolish ga…" he trailed off, watching her sprint away,

laughing. He sighed, chuckling softly to himself, then began to jog after her. She

glanced back once, her eyes filled with elated dares, and then she picked up her

speed. He accelerated as well, though he felt foolish for doing so, refusing to be

shown up by a feisty rebelette. They continued on this way for at least a block,

maybe two, and she remained at least six paces in front of him throughout. '_Mon dieu, _

_this girl is fast.'_ He thought to himself as he lengthened his strides as quickly and

extensively as his body allowed. Again her hair flared out behind her in billowing

tresses, and as she turned the first corner, she flew around it so sharply that he

almost ran into the corner store directly next to it when he tried to follow. '_Agile, _

_too!'_ he observed, startled, in his head. As he watched her dash and attempted to

catch up with her, he fell deep into thought over her sagacious words. She just…

cognized him so well; sympathized with and reassured him so easily. He'd never

before told anyone the things he'd expressed to her, too afraid that they would make

him appear pitiful or tentative. And yet they'd come pouring out as if he were only

telling her his name; she who he'd known for but two days. He wasn't for a moment

regretful of the conversation, but he couldn't help wondering what had instigated it

to flow so easily in the first place. At the speed they were going, they reached the

Café in no time, both breathing heavily, hair windblown and clothing mussed.

"Well… it appears your being… so petite is useful… for something." He huffed,

smiling cockily at her. Her jaw dropped open in a tickled false offense, and she

leaned up against the wall of the building before calmly replying, "I'm going to

pretend I didn't just hear another jive about my height, _which_ _again_ I don't consider

to be very short at all, and instead accolade you on your athleticism, considering no

one has ever stayed that tightly on my heels before." She winked before turning

towards the door. He said nothing more, just smiled victoriously to himself before

straightening back up and following her lead.

**A/N:**** I am speeding through this story pretty quickly! But don't worry… we're nowhere **_**near**_** finished yet. We haven't even gotten to the barricade yet! **

**Heh heh heh… if somewhere in your mind you think **_**this**_** chapter is fluffy… you just wait… :) I have some fluffy chapters of DOOM coming up. But will**__**they be for Lynette and Enjolras? Or perhaps Lynette and someone else… or **_**Enjolras **_** and someone else… where is this story **_**going? **_**I suppose you'll just have to keep reading to see. ;)**

**London was fantastic; everything there was so beautiful! If you'd like to see some pictures, I posted a bunch on my deviantart account; my username is **foto-ragazza14**. Saw Les Mis, and it was so amazing I don't even have the WORDS to descibe it, and then… afterwards…**

**I met Hadley Fraser (who'd played Javert and is my other favorite singer-actor of ALL TIME) and RAMIN KARIMLOO. They were so nice and generous with their time, and even gave me some advice on making it in theater! I thought i was going to pass out! XD**

**Anyway, please R&R, because I answer every single one and just adore hearing from you! ~DonJuana**


	7. Chapter 7

Upon entering the café, they found it to be already occupied by several of the men;

including Jean-Prouvaire, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, several of Lynette's recruits, and

surprisingly… Marius. The boy looked utterly devastated, and his eyes drooped,

encircled with dark bags, but he had arrived earlier than even they; so immediately

they knew something was amiss. Enjolras caught Combeferre's eye, and, motioning

to Marius, asked a silent question. Combeferre half-shrugged subtly, then turned

back to his work. Enjolras was about to sit himself down next to the boy when

Lesgles, Bahorel, and Feuilly walked in, Bahorel immediately walking up to Lynette

and saying, "Miss Lynette, Enjolras. I believe you assigned me the first watch of the

day, Mademoiselle?" he inquired.

"That is correct. I'm assuming you remember what to do should there be a

surprise attack?" she questioned him.

"Of course. I will alert anyone on the ground near me or shout in to you." He

replied rationally.

"And what will you avoid at all costs as a signal?" she continued the

interrogation.

"Firing any wasted shots. We have too little ammunition as it is." He repeated.

"Very good. Now just go grab a rifle from the storeroom and assume your

position." She told him, pointing to the back of the café. He nodded once more, then

was off on his way. "Well done on the ammunition precautions." Enjolras

commented in admiration.

"Thank you kindly. I know there can be nothing wasted." She replied seriously.

"Indeed. We're already so…" he trailed off, not even bothering to finish the

sentence. Yet she knew what he meant. She just didn't want to acknowledge it.

Suddenly, an enormous yawn was heard, and Grantaire's red-flushed face appeared

from behind the worn, solitary couch in the corner near the hearth. "Good Lord, I

could hear that bellow from outside." Joly commented as he walked in.

"Lookee here, I must still be dreaming! Is that the stunningly exquisite Lynette

I see?" Grantaire drawled, an impish grin stretching across his face.

"My, my; what big words! How did you manage to add those to your

vocabulary, Monsieur Grantaire?" Lynette rolled her eyes, but Enjolras could see the

tiniest semblance of amusement in her expression. He winked at her flirtatiously.

"Anythin' to make a good impression on you, sweetheart."

"Grantaire, gather up those bottles. Now." Enjolras ordered petulantly,

pointing at the pile of jugs, wondering how so much alcohol could be consumed by

one man without his heart giving out. "And no more brandy today, Grantaire, we

cannot run the risk of a drunkard hobbling about our battle grounds." He added, and

with a huff of irritation, Grantaire nodded. Even with his thoughts muddled, his head

pounding, and his not at all remembering how he had ended up on that couch, he

knew how vital soberness was to this most significant of days. After he'd shuffled off

with his arms full of empty carafes, Enjolras called the men to order. "Alright, let us

make haste! We have no time to linger; all but Courfeyrac, Joly, and Combeferre will

come with me to finish the barricade!" he shouted, beckoning for them to follow as

he walked towards the door. He glanced back once at Lynette and nodded. She

returned the gesture before yelling, "Now, as for you three, you're going to stay here

and help me to do a last minute check over everything from weaponry to lines of

attack. And yes, I know we've all but branded these tirelessly into your thoughts

many times before, but today there can be no mistakes, no overlooked details. We're

in the final stretch, gentlemen, and every time we assiduously ingrain these plans

into our brains, we have that much less of a chance of forgetting them."

Enjolras exited the ABC with a content smile, knowing that with Lynette left in

charge of the final rundown, nothing would go overlooked. '_She is as much of a _

_perfectionist as I am.'_ He suddenly realized, chuckling softly. But soon he had no

more time for thinking, and he let himself be totally subjugated by the intensifying

rise of their blockade. He lifted countless wooden furnishings, cart pieces, and

boards, and after at least two hours his arms screamed achingly, and the sweat

running down his face felt like rain, it was so plentiful. But he hesitated not, rested

not, for he knew how little time there was, and how desperately they needed to

make this barricade as strong as humanly possible. It would not be proper for the

leader to stop and take a break when there was still work to be done, and would not

set a good example for the others to follow. So, he continued on until it was an hour

past noon, and the last bits were put into place, completing the massive, sturdy,

seemingly unconquerable structure that was their glorious obstruction. He smiled

wildly as he looked upon it, in all its magnificent splendor, and he cheered in his

head before turning on his heel and rushing to the door of the ABC, bursting in

delightedly. He was about to open his mouth to proclaim their barricade finished

when he saw Lynette and Courfeyrac leaning, their backs to him, over his

stratagems, Courfeyrac inching closer oh so prudently. He watched, confused,

wondering silently where the other two had gone. He didn't know what kept him

from sounding out his call right then and there, but something about the situation

was very peculiar, and unless he knew exactly what Courfeyrac was doing, he

couldn't guess what. "So, Mademoiselle Lynette, why is it you work so unstintingly

on these same plans?" Courfeyrac asked her casually.

"My adoration for Patria and my desire for perfect freedoms gives me the

patience to examine them many times over." She replied as simply as he'd asked.

"Why don't we take a break, wait for Joly and Combeferre to return?"

"If we had time for breaks, Monsieur, I wouldn't be so hungry." She fired back,

eyes never leaving the plans in front of her. He reached out and grabbed her hand,

causing her to immediately look up at him. He smiled, secretly satisfied that it had

gotten her attention, then said, "Well then come with me, we can get you something

to eat. Walk down to the baker's, my treat." He flashed her one of his famous

Casanova grins, and she smiled politely in return. "As nice as that sounds, there is no

time for such cavorting." He smiled, one eyebrow raised, then drew her hand closer

so that her knuckles, still resting in his, just brushed his chest. "Come now, it takes

two minutes! We'll be there and back before they even notice we're gone."

"I appreciate the offer, Monsieur, but I'm afraid I cannot accept." She gently

pulled her hand away.

"I—" Courfeyrac started, but just then Enjolras cleared his throat, causing

both of them to jump and turn around to face him. He had watched in silence,

irritation growing with each word and smile exchanged, teeth subconsciously

clenching as Courfeyrac had taken her hand and drawn it so close. He realized how

strange his reaction was, but he figured it must be because they were wasting

precious time discussing unimportant matters. He couldn't see any other sensible

option. "If I may intrude; the barricade is finished. We want everyone outside, so

where are Combeferre and Joly?" he asked firmly.

"I sent them around back to retrieve some extra rifles I fetched yesterday."

Courfeyrac explained quickly. As if sensing their names being called, Combeferre

and Joly entered through the storeroom door, saying, "Courfeyrac, we couldn't find

your rif—"

"Barricade then?" Courfeyrac said promptly, stepping towards the door.

Enjolras caught him by the shoulder, whispering, "Not so fast; you'll wait here a

moment." Courfeyrac, looking even more youthful than usual with an anxious look

on his face, nodded. Enjolras then proceeded to call, "Lynette, Combeferre, Joly; go

outside and tell the others I will be out momentarily to speak with them." Lynette

nodded, then the three exited the café. Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac with an

eyebrow raised, expression stony. "Miss Lynette is your co-captain, and you will

treat her as such. I don't want to see any more of your attempted philanderer's

charm." The young man flashed an overconfident grin, his positive, sarcastic

behavior returning instantly. "Philanderer's charm, eh? I like it. It suits me."

"Don't try to change the subject Courfeyrac, she is a frontrunner in this

revolution." He said sharply.

"She's also one of the finest women to walk the streets." The womanizer

winked. Enjolras was silent for a moment, but then said, "Now is not the time for

flirtations, Courfeyrac. There is a battle coming up, perhaps in a matter of hours. I

know that you have very strong feelings for this cause, you just need to take your

mind off of women long enough to fully support it." Enjolras said resolutely.

"I know, my friend, I really do. Besides, she's not really my type of girl anyway.

No matter what advances I make, she resists them like I'm nothing but an irritating

fly. Her head's in control, not her heart." He laughed shortly, clapping Enjolras'

shoulder before walking out the door. Enjolras took a moment, leaning up against

the wall and crossing his arms. '_One of the finest women to walk the streets…'_ First

Grantaire, now Courfeyrac, both flirting shamelessly with their austere capitaine.

Couldn't they see how irrelevant their actions were compared to what was to come?

He knew that they were more or less harmless, that they just wanted to have a little

fun, but the more he thought about their suggestive words and swaggering smiles,

the more vexed he became. They paid her so much attention….

Why did he care? Why did the thought of her sudden regard with his fellow

revolutionaries make him boil inside? Though he'd told himself ad infinitum that it

was because he was used to being the one and only leader of these energetic men,

he couldn't help wondering if there was something else… but what? What else _could_

there be? He shook his head as if to rattle these thoughts clear out of his head, then

stepped into the light and profuse heat of the June afternoon. Upon his appearance,

the euphoric chatter and shouts died away, all turning to stare at him with rebellion

and wild excitement blazing in their eyes. He caught sight of the oceanic pair, and

Lynette beamed, nodding encouragingly. He grinned back briefly before walking

over to the base of the barricade and stepping up, taking their red flag from a

younger man whose face he couldn't see. He took a moment to look out at all their

expectant faces, and then let an enthusiastic grin stretch out across his face. "Here,

upon these stones, we have built our barricade," He began, gesturing towards the

cobblestone below. "Right here in the heart of our beloved city! All I can say now is

that here we are, on the judgment day! It has finally come! So each man to his duty;

do not be afraid brethren!" he said, clenching a fist. But abruptly, a thought struck

him. "Wait! I need a report on the strength of the enemy. Any volunteers?" he asked.

All was silent for a moment, but suddenly, a broad shouldered man pushed his way

to the front of the crowd. "Here! I can find out the truth! I know their ways. I've

fought in all their wars, served my fair share in the past." Enjolras nodded at him.

"Perfect. Thank you very much, Monsieur." The man's eyes were unfamiliar and

hard, his expression was pitiless, and he looked to be on the older side of the

revolutionaries, but at this point in time, any help offered was to be snatched up

readily. The man gave a final, curt nod, then hurried off. Enjolras turned back to the

others, who had now begun to stir again. "And soon the people will fight, and us so

called dogs and fleas will back and bite!" One of Lynette's men shouted, earning an

eruption of whoops and applause.

"And finally, we and they will do what we know is right!" Bahorel, who had

returned from his watch about an hour before, added. Another round of cheers

swept the small crowd, and, satisfied with his spurring speech, Enjolras stepped

down. Combeferre and Lynette approached him immediately, and Combeferre

clapped his shoulder. "Well done, Enjolras. I think, if they weren't riotously excited

before, they certainly are now." He chuckled.

"Many thanks Combeferre; this wouldn't have been possible without all of

your help." Enjolras replied sincerely, shaking his closest friend's hand.

"Oh, that's not true. I'm just the moral and intellectual support; the convenient

base of your uprising." Combeferre teased in response.

"Well, without a solid foundation, no structure can withhold, my friend."

Enjolras replied, flashing Lynette a smile. She immediately recognized her quote

from the day before, and bit back a laugh. Combeferre chuckled, then bowed out to

join Feuilly and Lesgles's conversation. Enjolras then turned to Lynette, who smiled

at him saying, "I agree with Combeferre; that was a wonderfully done speech."

"Much obliged. I could barely control my eagerness enough to pull it together."

He laughed honestly.

"I'm not surprised, I feel the same way. It's… it's really time, isn't it?" she

breathed with an awed smile, as if the thought was only just hitting her.

"I can hardly believe it either. The one thing I've anticipated, worked for, and

unquenchably desired all my life is now, quite possibly, only minutes away." He

replied, eyes widening with the wondrousness of the thought. Suddenly, he felt

someone run into him roughly, and turned to see the boy who'd handed him the flag

stumbling to the ground. "Excuse me, my boy, I didn't see y—" he began, but as the

figure turned to face him, he saw it to be the grubby, round face of the Thérnadier

girl. "Miss Thérnadier? What are you—" She ignored him, turning to Lynette and

saying, "'e doesn't know, doesn't care!" voice cracking in the middle, as if she were

choking back sobs. Then she got up and scurried away with something that looked

like a letter in her hand. Enjolras turned to look quizzically at Lynette, but she did

not meet his gaze, just stared sadly after the girl. He decided not to ask, and instead

said, "Lucky we had a volunteer for scouting out our foes, eh?" hoping to change the

subject. That brought her back instantly, and, with a suddenly solemn face, she said,

"Yes… I wanted to talk to you about that. Don't you find it a bit suspicious that a man

we've never seen before eagerly steps forward to slip behind enemy lines?"

"Not in the least, why do you ask?" he replied, confused by her accusation.

"You truly don't? Because I do, quite honestly. I didn't like that look on his

face." She told him, caution clear in her tone. "It is the look of a man who has gone

through much in his life, quite natural at his age." Enjolras replied matter-o-factly.

"But still… something feels off about the situation, Enjolras, and I don't like it

one bit." She told him, caution turning to worry as she bit her lip.

"I think you just have a little case of predormient battle paranoia, Lynette.

Plenty of people will rise up to join us today; he just seems to be the first." He

replied, shrugging.

"Perhaps, but—"

"Then there's nothing to worry about. We need all the extra hands we can

get, so let's not turn away the first ones that come forward." He said assuredly,

putting his hand on her shoulder. It was a natural motion, one he'd used with his

fellow activists often. Yet, it felt somehow different with her, and he quickly pulled it

back to his side awkwardly. She hadn't seemed to notice, to his relief, and smiled

gratefully at him. "I guess you're right, I'll quit my fussing."

"Good. Because the last thing we need on the battle site is a paranoid leader."

He teased, and she laughed, an amused glint dancing through her eyes. She was then

pulled away by several of her men, and Combeferre waved him over to join them. He

talked with them for a while, caught off guard by Grantaire's intelligible dictations.

He'd escaped his hangover more quickly than usual, the apparent prominence a

brisk spur. After a while, Jean-Prouvaire got caught up in the invigorating spirit of

the discourses around him, and, like the poet he was, stood up and began

melodramatically shouting, "Now, let us pledge ourselves to hold this barricade!"

"Let them come in their legions, they will be stopped in their tracks!"

Courfeyrac added, punching the air.

"Have faith everyone, be not afraid!" Lesgles jumped in giddily.

"And let's give 'em a screwing they'll _never forget_!" Grantaire roared, and the

men went crazy with bellowing cheers. Even Lynette couldn't help grinning.

"I'll be right in the middle, where the fighting is hardest!"

"Yes, let them come!"

"We'll be there!"

These shouts were nameless, and yet they still held the incited ardor each and every

man there felt burning inside. Two flames of rebellion burned ten times brighter

than the rest, however. Lynette and Enjolras were practically high on this frenzied

alacrity, each rallying cry like an angel's song to their ears. Knowing that everyone

was behind them, knowing that Patria was about to finally be free… it gave them a

stimulated jubilation stronger than all others they'd ever experienced. Forthwith,

there was a cry from Joly, who had taken over the watch when Bahorel's time was

up. He had purposely been assigned a watch earlier on in the day, because once the

fighting had really started… the medic would inevitably be needed. "Three officers

approaching the barricade, arms unknown!" Enjolras's head snapped up, and he

immediately met eyes with Lynette, who looked as startled as he was. But, it was

late afternoon; he had truly expected nothing less than a visit from their opponents

by now. Without a word spoken between them, he and Lynette snapped into action.

"Find your arms and assume positions! No shot shall be fired unless the command is

given!" Enjolras barked, rushing over to his rifle. The men's eyes were wide with

shock, but after a moment of complete and utter stillness, everyone sprang into

action, clamoring to get to their assigned bearings. The guns that had been so

carefully laid out were picked clean in one wave of frenetic men, and then everyone

attempted to scramble up the barricade at once. Enjolras caught sight of Lynette

weaving easily through the closely plaited heap of rebels, though luckily their

spreading out to cover the entire length of the barricade had made the entire

process much easier for the rest of them. In their determination, Lynette and he

were the first ones to reach the top, and, in some tacitly agreed upon unison, they

straightened and stood tall, staring intensely down at their much-reviled visitors. He

saw the front-most officer holding up a twig which he assumed to be an olive

branch, a symbol of peace. What a pity it wasn't a white flag of surrender. He spared

one more fleeting glance at Lynette, and almost made a double take. She stood with

such self-confidence, such powerful strength atop the barricade, staring fiercely

down at the three soldiers fast approaching. It reminded him of a painting he'd seen

in one of his books awhile back by the name of "_Boadicea Haranguing the Britons". _

The tale of Boadicea was one of a fierce Celtic queen, and from the way Lynette

stood now, facing fear head-on with a lethal scowl; and just the way she carried

herself in general, he couldn't help seeing a huge similarity. She looked almost

outlandishly beautiful; positively radiating with supremacy. He snapped back from

his daze when the soldiers stopped about 20 meters away, and one of them shouted,

"Men of the barricade, listen to this! No one will come to help you fight! You're on

your own, you have no last minute allies, so give up your guns or die!" Enjolras's

teeth clenched in malice, and he turned back to his men, signaling to Bahorel to

watch his back in the process. "Damn their warnings! Damn their lies! The people

will emerge!" he roared. A bellowing cheer erupted from the men, and they began

chanting in a thundering unison. "Damn their warnings! Damn their lies! The people

will emerge!" As this mantra continued, he turned back to the officers with a final

glare, daring them to speak again. Their eyes simply narrowed in return, but then

they slipped away like the slick foxes they were. As soon as he was sure they weren't

coming back with half the militia, he jumped down and immediately yelled for

silence. "If you think that is a victory, you are strongly mistaken! Those men were

not even armed. They will be back, and they will bring their comrades, and unless

we are one hundred percent alert, they will end this war before it's even begun." He

warned. A grim silence settled over the crowd, but it was broken by a high soprano

cry. "But will we let that happen?" Lynette reverberated.

"No!" the men resounded in reply.

"That's right! We will be the ones ending this war, we, the children of the

barricade!" she called. Another roar sprang forth from the crowd, and Enjolras

nodded approvingly at her. She knew that his words had in the very least

disconcerted them with the reality of the situation, and she'd balanced it out with

her utterances of motivation. It was simultaneous and assumed; the accustomed

action of two leaders working together as one. No more than five minutes passed

before another shout was heard from Joly, this time hollering, "Our volunteer has

returned!"

**A/N ****: Hey guys! How are y'all? **

**Alas! The barricade is complete! And the battle is fast approaching… *dun dun DUUUNN* And ah, Courfeyrac… what to do with such a shameless flirt? XD I guess Grantaire could fall under that category as well, though… and, what's this? It… irritates Enjolras? So the plot thickens… *rubs hands together with evil grin***

**Please R even if just to let me know you're out there! I've got two wonderful, consistent reviewers right now, but as far as I know they're the only readers I have! Hope to hear from you! :D ~DonJuana**


	8. Chapter 8

"Quickly men, let him through immediately!" Enjolras ordered, and within a few

minutes of grueling climb, their older supporter stood before them with a slight

pant, saying, "Listen, my friends! I have been to their lines, counted each man! Better

be warned, they have armies to spare. The danger is real. We will need all of our

cunning to stop them." Enjolras clapped the man on the back gratefully. "Have faith,

for if you know what their movements are, we'll spoil their game. There are ways

that the people can fight! We shall overcome their power!" The answering reactions

ranged from approving nods to cheers. But all went motionless once more as the

fellow continued with, "I overhead their plans, and there will be no attack tonight.

They want to starve us out, then concentrate all their forces, hitting us from the

right." All acquiesced thoughtfully. Suddenly, a tiny but surprisingly lurid voice cried

out, "Liar!" Every Ami turned in the direction of the voice in bemusement. It was

none other than little Gavroche, arms crossed and face surly. Enjolras glanced

suspiciously back at the man, and saw that his eyes had widened at the sight of the

eleven year old. Gavroche tipped his hat mockingly, though his eyes shone with

disgust. "Good evening dear _Inspector_, lovely weather we're having, hm? I know this

man, my friends, his name's Inspector Javert!" At this point the infiltrator attempted

to make a run for it, but Enjolras caught it out of the corner of his eye and lunged for

him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. He wrestled briefly with Javert, who

was surprisingly strong for his age, but managed to keep him down until Courfeyrac

and Feuilly came running with a rope. "So don't believe one word he says, he's just

feeding us their lies! Well, this just goes to show what little people can do." The boy

finished smugly, staring down at the spy he'd exposed.

"Bravo, Gavroche! You're the top of the class!" Grantaire exclaimed, reaching

down and gripping the boy's weedy shoulder.

"So what are we going to do with the snoop?" Jean-Prouvaire hissed,

narrowing his eyes. The Inspector glared up at them with a stare so hateful, they

could practically feel its burn. Enjolras stood and glared right back, reflecting his ire.

"Courfeyrac, Feuilly; tie him up and take him into the tavern. The people will decide

your fate, Inspector Javert." He growled, directly addressing the mole beneath him.

They locked eyes for but a moment, and icy blue-gray against his smoldering brown,

and it was like a war of the elements. Fire and ice, good and evil, life and death.

Enjolras was so caught up in the malevolent stare down, he barely even heard the

others' angry suggestions on what to do with him. "Let's just take the bastard now,

and shoot him!" Courfeyrac snarled.

"Yes, let's watch the devil _dance_." Feuilly hissed in supplement.

"Wouldn't you have done the same, Inspector?" Lesgles glared scornfully.

Javert broke his beaming gaze towards Enjolras to sneer, "Shoot me now, or shoot

me later! Let every schoolboy…" he trailed off, gaze flashing to Lynette, "or _girl _to

their sport! Death to each and every one of you, you filthy traitors!"

"We may not all survive here Inspector, but there are certain things that

never perish." Combeferre said coolly.

"And what's the difference, die a schoolboy, die a policeman, die a spy?"

Grantaire growled.

"Just take this man away; there is work we have to do!" Enjolras commanded,

rubbing his temple fumingly. They dragged the subversive away, and within seconds

Lynette was beside him, arms crossed. "If you're here to receive an apology and a

"you were right", please don't say a word more." He said darkly, teeth grit.

"Actually, that's not what I came here for at all. Do you really believe I'd be so

immature as to cockily say, "I told you so" on a day such as this?" she retorted,

obviously a bit irritated. He took a deep breath, silently reminding himself that it

wasn't her fault just because she'd been right when he'd been wrong, then

answered, "Then what is it you need?"

"I just wanted to say… and please, don't think of this as prideful in _any_ way,

I've always had a knack for fathoming people, ever since I was young, and when I

say something like that, I'm not bluffing. I just came over here to ask you to trust

me." She told him quietly. He was a bit taken aback by this completely dour

statement, but after a moment, he nodded, slowly and surely. "Alright. I'll make sure

to heed your warnings from now on." She smiled at him appreciatively.

"Glad to hear it. That was too close for comfort." She shivered slightly, though

she tried to hide it. He was about to respond when the hoarse voice of a much worn

(from too much shouting) Joly yelled, "There's a boy climbing the barricade!"

"Oh for God's sake! What could it possibly be now?" Enjolras cursed in

frustration. He and Lynette turned to watch a small boy's figure stumble down the

side of the barricade until he landed, wobbling, on the ground. Most of the other

men went right back to whatever preparations they'd been busying themselves with

beforehand, considering the boy was unarmed and too wispy to even look like a

threat. But Lynette and Enjolras remained observing as Marius flew towards the

arrival. They were just close enough to hear him faintly hiss, "Good God, what are

you doing? 'Ponine, have you no fear?" The leaders exchanged shocked glances. It

was the Thérnadier girl! How had they not seen it before? "Have you seen my

beloved Cosette? Why have you returned?" Marius continued, firing questions as

quickly as a bullet leaves a gun. Enjolras thought he saw Lynette's jaw tighten at the

sound of these words, but it was difficult to tell for sure. He followed on her tail as

she silently took a few steps closer to the bewildering scene, listening all the while.

"I took the letter… just like you said! I gave it… to… to her father. 'e p—

promised to give it to… to… oh God, I don't think I can stand anymore." Éponine

gasped, stumbling. Marius caught her and eased her to the ground, eyes widening

with fear. "Éponine, what's wrong? There's something… wet upon your hair.

Éponine, you're hurt! You need help! The blood it's…" he cried out, and Enjolras

heard Lynette gasp before yelling, "Joly! Quick, someone bring Joly!" and rushing

forward to stand just a few feet behind Marius. Éponine's eyes flickered to Lynette,

who was gazing down at her disconsolately, and, before anyone else could notice,

she mouthed, "_Thank you."_ up to the strong woman who had helped her when no

one else would. Then, she turned back to the love of her life, saying, "Oh, don't you

fret Monsieur Marius! I c—can't feel a thing. A little… fall of rain can 'ardly 'urt me

now. You're 'ere… that's all I really need to know." She smiled at him adoringly.

Enjolras went to stand by Lynette's side, and seeing the blazing love in the thin girl's

eyes made _him_ feel a pang of regret… he couldn't imagine what this was doing to

Marius, who was only now having his eyes opened. "I know that… that you will keep

me safe and close to you… and rain… makes the flowers grow." She breathed hazily,

obviously drifting in and out of illusions.

"But… but you will live, 'Ponine! Oh, dear God! If only I could heal your

wounds with loving words." Marius despaired. The street girl let out a sigh of delight,

placing her hand on his cheek. "No… just 'old me now. Shelter and comfort me…" she

pleaded, trying to nuzzle as close to him as her wound would allow.

"I won't desert you now." He whispered desperately as he watched one of his

best friends fade away in front of him.

"This rain will… wash away the past! And now I can… finally s—sleep in

your… embrace," she struggled to smile, "This wonderful rain is 'eaven blessed! It

brought… it brought you here to me. And when the skies clear… I'll… I'll be… at rest."

She sighed, feeling the sticky, red wetness that was all over her oozing in between

her fingers. Enjolras winced as he realized what she meant by "rain". "And now I'm…

a breath away from you and… I've c—come 'ome." Her smile widened, and it seemed

like if she could have laughed in triumphant glee, she would have.

"I'll stay with you until you're sleeping." Marius choked. She gave him one

last ecstatic smile, then turned to look up at the evening sky. "Yes, rain… will make…

the f—flowers…" And then Éponine Thérnadier's eyes glazed over, leaving nothing

but a spiritless corpse in Marius's arms. The boy trembled as he held her, but he

leaned over and kissed her cold, dirty forehead. The barricade was dead silent, for

everyone had heard those last few dismal moments. All had been hit with the cold,

hard truth that they had just witnessed the first death of the barricade. It was

something they had all known would come, but never imagined just how horrible it

would feel, just how much of an impact it would make. "She is the first to fall… the

first of us to fall upon the barricade." Enjolras said torpidly, still staring at the girl

they'd all come to know as Marius's shadow.

"H—her name was Éponine. Her life was always cold and dark, yet she

remained unafraid." Marius stammered, gasping out his last rites. Combeferre came

up behind Marius and put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll fight here in her name." he

told him consolingly.

"We will not let her death be meaningless." Jean-Prouvaire added gravely.

"She will not go unrequited." Lesgles joined in before motioning for the body.

Marius took one last look at his friend, then handed her over. Lesgles and Jean-

Prouvaire picked her up gingerly and carried her away, and after a few moments of

respectful silence, Enjolras said, "The girl was killed by bullet, there's no doubt of

that. If the girl was returning from…" he trailed off, looking to Marius, who looked

down and muttered, "North of here, Rue Plumet."

"The north then, that means they're coming and they've got bullets to spare.

The time has come. I want every man on his toes, never leaving his position unless

under order." He explicated solemnly. The men simply nodded at him before

shuffling back to their various stations, a few stopping to shake his hand. The

gesture alarmed him. It seemed so final, as if they had already given into defeat. He

said a silent prayer of pleading against it; for without numbers, they were nothing.

"_Without a solid foundation, no structure can withhold…"_ something in the back of his

mind whispered, this time a taunt instead of a consolation. He looked up to the

twilight tinted sky; much too beautiful a purple for a night such as this. When he

glanced back down, Lynette had materialized in front of him. "Don't worry," she

began, "they're just a bit stunned and shaken. My family was the same way after my

father's hanging. They'll get over it as soon as the army marches up."

He stared into her blue-green eyes, somehow, immediately solaced. It was as if she'd

read his mind, uplifting him to keep him from panicking. "Thank you." He breathed,

for it was all he could think of to say to her. She reached up with a gentle smile,

patting his arm in reply. There was a certain benign warmth to her touch, and it

eased him even farther, but it was gone in seconds, for she had been called away by

Feuilly, who had been put in charge of weapon dispersal and ammunition

circulation, and he watched her glide away in admiring respect. She could change

her entire persona in a matter of seconds; going from a playful, animated, childish

girl to this wise, stern, sympathetic, motherly woman. Had it only been this morning

that she'd challenged him to a race, teasing and giggling, boasting her speed and

agility? And now she was soothing him, keeping him level, knowing that his fear

meant everyone's fear, rekindling the thoughts of why he was here in the first place.

"_Amazing." _He thought involuntarily. But once again, his thoughts were interrupted

by one of Lynette's men, who had replaced Joly in watch when his medical skills

were needed, yelled, "I see them! They're on their way!" Enjolras's eyebrows arched

in surprise. Those scouts had made it back to their squadron so quickly! And now,

here they returned, massive brigade in tow. He peeked through a tiny opening in the

barricade to see the unit stop briefly at the end of the street. Still pretty far off, but

seeing them there, men all but developing from nothing but the mist, made him

realize just how close they were to battle. Minutes? Seconds?

It was as if his world slowed, and nothing else existed but those thoughts reiterating

in his mind and his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He closed his eyes and

inhaled deeply, taking in the fearsome thrill of the moment he'd been waiting for his

entire life. It was really here; there was nothing more standing in between himself

and the men he loathed more than anything else in this cruel world. His time had

come, and even if he did not survive what was to come, his life will have been

fulfilled in his final crusade, simply because he will have showed the government

that he was not their puppet; that they couldn't mistreat people just because they

had the power to. Especially without expecting a fight should they do so. As he

relished this final moment of pensive peace before he let rabid instinct take control,

he was abruptly ripped out of his meditative state of mind by Joly's piercing cry of,

"Here comes a man in uniform!"

**A/N :**** Hey everyone! Sorry for the short chapter, but lots happened, eh? Thought it would be good enough to satisfy y'all for another week. ) **

**I think 'Ponine's one of the most powerful characters in the musical. So much love… yet it was unrequited until the very end. If you like her as much as I do, I've been writing a crossover fic about she and Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. I'd love to hear you thoughts on it! **

**The battle is fast approaching… and Enjolras is more than ready. Lynette as well. But out poor leaders have had to deal with so much! A spy, an unfortunate girl, and now a… soldier? What next? **

**R&R, you must know by now how each review makes my day! ~DonJuana**


	9. Chapter 9

Enjolras whipped around to face the direction he saw the medic pointing, rifle in

hand, ready to fire. The shadow of a man approached with caution as to avoid being

shot down, but the others had mimicked Enjolras's movement, and he stopped and

held his hands up. "What brings you here?" Joly asked suspiciously.

"I come here as a volunteer." The man replied, voice deep but soft with a

tranquil sort of feel to it. Despite this, the guns pointed in the intruder's direction

weren't lowered a millimeter. "Approach and show your face." Joly ordered, and

Enjolras was a bit surprised by the punitive tone the usually cheerful medical

student was using. The man stepped forward into the light, and Enjolras realized

that the man was quite elderly; fine lines etched into his face from years of wear. He

wore an officer's jacket, though disheveled, and, despite the mild pleading in the

man's stormy grey eyes, the revolutionaries narrowed their eyes into near-slits.

"You wear an army uniform." Bahorel accused, stating the obvious, and it appeared

the interloper was getting a rare, merciful chance to explain.

"That's why they let me through." The man replied calmly.

"You've got some years behind you, sir." Joly stated, doubtfully.

"I can do much. Years behind me, perhaps, but I have a few good ones left in

front of me." the man continued, taking one cautious step forward. Joly held out a

hand, stopping him, then pointed to where the Inspector was tied to one of the

tavern's front posts. "You see that prisoner over there?" he asked, glancing at the

newcomer grimly.

"A volunteer like you." Grantaire growled in warning.

"A spy named Javert." Combeferre continued with the same threatening

glare.

"And oh, he's gonna get it." Grantaire finished darkly, scowling at the bound

detainee.

"They're about fifty meters away now, lining up and readying to attack!" the

scout cried out, and all those not dealing with the latest novice rushed to cock their

guns. Enjolras bit his lip in furious agitation, wondering how in the world he'd come

to have to deal with this so inopportunely. He had to make a decision _now_; shoot the

man and avoid the risk of his betrayal, or let him fight beside them and gain another

set of hands. For a moment, he just stood there, debating frantically in his head,

when suddenly Lynette gingerly grabbed his rifle and forced him to lower it.

"Enjolras, let him fight." She breathed smoothly, looking him in the eyes. Hers

glittered, surprisingly spectacular in the low light, and he immediately located the

firm pleading in them, reminding him of the promise he'd made her with one look.

He hesitated for but a moment more, then nodded at her, lowering his gun

completely and motioning for the others to do the same. He handed the man the rifle

in his hand, grimacing, "Take this and use it well. But if you shoot us in the back, you

won't live to see the dawn." The man nodded, his expression completely composed

and nonaligned, then was off in a flash, climbing the barricade. Lynette nodded

appreciatively at Enjolras before following his lead, and with that, Enjolras sprinted

over to Feuilly, who already had another rifle on hand. "Really taking the risk,

Enjolras?" the artisan questioned. Enjolras had just opened his mouth to explain

when the sentry shouted, "Platoon of sappers advancing towards the barricade!"

"More troops behind them, fifty men or more!" Combeferre bellowed in

adjunct. Feuilly and Enjolras spared one more glance at each other, silently saying

good luck, then dashed off. Enjolras, in his determined anticipation, was up the side

of their grand blockade in seconds, and he stood tall atop his pride, staring down at

the officers who were no longer men, simply targets. He saw the eyes of both legions

upon him, waiting anxiously for his word, the cry that would spur it all. One word; it

was so little. And yet today it meant victory or failure, freedom or oppression, life or

death. Guns were pointed, men were braced, all were ready and waiting for his

shout of…

"_Fire_!"

And as soon as the bellow left his lips, all hell broke lose. Or, that's what it would

seem like to anyone unaware who was listening. It seemed like all those many first

shots were fired at once, making, instead of the individual pops of a rifle, the

thunderous shot of a cannon. Enjolras grinned complacently as he watched some of

the officers drop to the ground, but couldn't enjoy the sight for long before they

recovered from this first barrage of bullets. As the Amis reloaded, their assaults

began, much more organized, timing and placement wise. His men dipped behind

the barricade, avoiding the flying projectiles, but with their economical advantage in

weaponry, each shot was too close for comfort. They bantered back and forth like

this for what seemed like years, and, between replenishments, Enjolras got the

chance to look around at each of his friends. The fierce nationalism in Feuilly's eyes,

the way Combeferre's face, though he was obviously as incensed as the rest of them,

managed to remain calm and philosophic even in the heat of battle, the bubbling

rage in Grantaire's eyes as he fired shot after wild shot. And finally, his gaze rested

upon Lynette as he fumbled to reload his gun. She was leaning up against the side of

the barricade, hugging her rifle to her chest with her teeth grit, when all of a sudden,

she whipped around faster than a lightning strikes the earth and fired, hitting one of

their opponents square in the chest. He nearly laughed; he shouldn't be surprised

coming from this spitfire of a woman, yet he was. Either she got a rather lucky shot,

or her marksmanship was as impressive as her speech, and he highly suspected the

latter. He turned and fired his next shot, not stopping to see where it fell, wise

enough to avoid that risk. How many officers had they downed? How much longer

would bullets fly? What are the people of Patria waiting for? He had no time to

ponder the questions, for a bullet had found a stray hole in the barricade and hit

something metal, showering him with seething orange sparks and an ear-piercing

grating noise. He covered his face in the nick of time, but felt the microscopic

tongues of fire burning into his hands. "_No time to think_!" he scolded himself, "_Let _

_your instinct take control."_ He reloaded quickly and took another shot, this time

keeping his head up long enough to see it narrowly miss one of the frontline men.

The next few events happened so fast, he couldn't fully comprehend them exactly

until later one. The man he'd almost hit saw him and pointed, shouting something he

couldn't hear. Then, a closer cry from Feuilly called, "Sniper!" and Enjolras saw the

man he was referring to… pointing the deadly weapon right at him. But as he ducked

down with a wince, the sniper crumpled to the ground, the shot that rang out not

erupting from his weapon. Enjolras turned, mouth open in shock, to see the old

volunteer lowering his rifle and stooping back down into the safety of the

barricade's embrace. He caught his eye, and the owner of those determined, ashen

grey eyes gave a curt nod before reloading with the skillfulness of a master and

turning back to the battle. Enjolras wanted to sit for a moment and process what

had just happened, maybe even thank the fellow, but instead he let his mind go

blank and operate for war and only war.

~~o~x~0~x~o~~

"They're retreating!" Combeferre yelled, and a roar of victorious shouts broke out

among the Amis.

"Look at them run!" Lesgles sneered excitedly.

"By God, we've won the day!" Grantaire exclaimed in what sounded like

disbelief. But before they could begin celebrating again, Enjolras cut in with, "But

they will be back." He then turned and found the elderly volunteer in their small

crowd of men, and he reached out to shake the man's hand. "We appreciate your last

minute enlistment, and of course for the deed you have done for me personally. I

will properly thank you after we've come out victorious in this battle."

"I need no thanks Monsieur, but there is something you can do." The man

replied.

"If it is in my power," Enjolras replied, tensing slightly in caution.

"Just give me the spy, Javert, and let _me_ take care of him." a scowl crossed the

old man's face as he looked upon the bound figure. When Javert saw this, he

screamed in fury, "The law is inside out! The world is upside down!" The man's livid

snarl finalized the deal for Enjolras, who replied, "Do what you have to do. He's all

yours." They shook hands once more, and then the man led the Inspector away into

the alley beyond their line sight behind the café. As soon as they were gone and

taken care of, Enjolras turned back to the group before him. "The enemy may be

regrouping. Hold yourselves in readiness. Come my friends, back to your positions."

The men nodded or saluted before returning to their assigned stations, holding their

guns at ready. In this silent time, when it seemed the whole world was holding its

breath, he finally had time to think. They had just fought, and come out generally

unharmed, their first battle. He knew they were nowhere near the end, oh no, this

was more of a practice round than anything else, but it was the first battle of the

revolution. And they had done it. They had driven their adversaries away. He felt a

silly grin stretch across his face in spite of himself, and Lynette saw from where she

stood a few feet away and walked towards him. "Happy with the victory?" she asked,

mirroring his smile.

"Though it is a small one, we still managed it." He replied, satisfied with even

that.

"We showed them alright. Or, if nothing else, we proved that we were to be a

tougher foe than originally assumed." She winked. He laughed merrily, saying, "Yes,

who are the schoolboys now? We weren't the ones to flee the scene like children."

"Or _GIRL_!" she snarled, deepening her voice to imitate the spy Javert's

sneering comment from before. Enjolras let out a bellowing laugh, earning him a few

confused glanced from his fellow rebels, but when they saw Lynette with him they

turned back to their own business, assuming they were planning out their next plan

of attack. Once he had quieted himself, he said, "Speaking of which, we should be…

_hearing_ from our new Ami soon."

"Ah, yes. It's been a while, do you think we should go check on them?" she

asked, suddenly anxious.

"No, I'm sure he's just taking his own good time—" he was cut off by the

sound of a gunshot, and he pointed in its direction. "See?"

There was some quiet applause from the other students, who were all relieved to

have the emissary dead. "Well, that makes two officially." Enjolras said, turning back

to Lynette. Her brow furrowed. "Two what?"

"Two men you read like a book and were spot on about." He teased. She

snorted. "It isn't really that difficult. You just look for nervous habits, the emotions in

their eyes… the older man had such a gentle, kind air about him… I knew he was on

our side."

"Obviously strong too, he took down that sniper without so much as a wince."

He stated admiringly. Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh, I completely forgot about that!

God, I thought you were as good as dead!" she hissed, biting her lip.

"Well, thanks to him, I avoided that ghastly fate," he caught her eye, "So thank

_you,_ I deduce, for trusting him and… well, stopping me from gunning him down." He

finished with a chuckle. Just then, the object of conversation returned from his grave

deed, and gave a nod to Enjolras before going to sit on the side of the barricade.

"Well done, sir." Grantaire half-smiled at him, but the man didn't even turn to look at

him, simply bowed his head in reply. Enjolras and Lynette stepped closer to them,

but as they stepped into the torchlight, Lynette abruptly put out a hand and stopped

him. "Good Lord Enjolras, you look like the living dead!"

"Well, being a leader is tiring work. I'm fine." He assured her, but she did not

let him go forward.

"You won't be able to lead much longer unless you get some sleep." She told

him, crossing her arms.

"I doubt anyone will be doing much sleeping tonight, Lynette. And if my

comrades lie awake, I will do just the same." He replied firmly.

"Your _comrades_ haven't been the ones up until dawn each day planning out a

revolution." She fired back, one eyebrow raised. He laughed quietly at her stubborn

persistence, then replied, "Really, Lynette. I'm fine."

She sighed. "Well, I guess there's no changing your mind, since I know you're

as stubborn as I am, but promise me that if you get too tired, you'll tell me, and from

there I'll take over any of your duties.

"Thank you. You have my word." He replied sincerely. Out of the corner of his

eye, he saw a pair of the men trod into the tavern, coming back with as many bottles

of brandy they could hold in their arms. As they were distributing their salvages,

Enjolras said, "Courfeyrac, you take the watch. I doubt they'll attack again until the

morning. Everybody stay awake, though; we need to be ready for the next fight."

Feuilly handed Courfeyrac a bottle, then the young flirt saluted Enjolras in

clarification before starting off towards the guard's post. As Enjolras watched him

go, his eyes fell upon Marius, who looked as misery-stricken as ever in addition to

his arduous struggle to keep his eyes open. Enjolras shook his head sadly before

walking over to him, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, making him jump.

"Marius, you need to rest." He told him. Marius opened his mouth to answer when

Feuilly raised his bottle and began singing one of the tavern's beloved drinking

songs. "_Drink with me, today's gone by. Sing with me, the songs we knew…" _he smiled

at the others, and, without missing a beat, Jean-Prouvaire continued, "_Here's to _

_pretty girls that went to our heads…"_

"_Here's to witty girls that went to our beds…"_ Joly chimed in. They all chuckled

softly, then joined in together. "_Here's to them… and here's to you."_ Enjolras knew the

next verse and, given the circumstances, didn't think he could handle hearing his

closest friends sing it mournfully. So, when Grantaire began with, "_Drink with me… _

_today's gone by. Could it be you fear to die?"_ he was secretly relieved when Marius

distracted his attention, asking, "Enjolras, is there a way I could talk to you for a

while before I repose?"

"Of course, Marius. Is there something on your mind?" Enjolras inquired,

though truly, he already knew what answer he would receive.

"Yes. I just can't get it out of my head! I can't get _her_ out of my head." He

groaned. Enjolras sat down beside him. "Ah… still thinking about your ghost of a

girl?" he inquired.

"But she is not a ghost! No, I found her, and her name is Cosette! She is the

most… I cannot even find words exquisite enough to describe her! I love her with a

burning adoration, worship her, even!" he smiled dreamily, obviously picturing the

girl in his head, but it disappeared as soon as it had come. Enjolras's brow furrowed.

Had Marius not just met this girl? What had it been since he came bursting into the

café, three days? How could he have fallen in love with her in such a short time? "But

she's leaving the country tomorrow. Her father is moving them across the sea! How

can I care if I should die, now that I'll never see her again? Life without her there

means absolutely nothing." Marius continued, the pain embedded in his expression

as deep as the ocean.

"How can you say you love this girl after only three days of knowing her?

Enjolras asked, unable to contain his bewildered curiosity any longer. Marius looked

at him as if he'd asked the most obvious question in the world. "How could I not?

When I first saw her, my soul set fire. From that moment on, I knew that she was the

one I was going to marry… and as I finally got to know her truly, I found her to be

the face of angelic perfection; beautiful, charming, sweet and gentle as a lamb, and

just… faultless." Marius breathed.

"Yes, lovely as she sounds, how did you come to, as you said, 'worship' her in

such a short period?" Enjolras pressed, nearly… fascinated with this psychological

enigma.

"She… she brought out the best in me. She makes me feel so much at once;

ecstasy, love, pride, serenity… and I felt as if I could tell her anything. Every time I'm

with her, I'm the happiest I've ever been, and… God Enjolras, there's just so much I

could tell you! To sum it all up, though, I just… know." He finished, grinning at his

friend. Enjolras couldn't help it; he chuckled. "You just know?" he asked bemusedly.

"Yes! She is my one and only love, I can feel in my heart that we're meant for

each other. I _know_." Marius explained.

"Yes, but—" Enjolras began, but Marius cut him off immediately.

"I cannot expect you to understand when all you know of love is what you

read. Once you find that special girl, Enjolras, the one who makes you the happiest

of men, you'll realize what I mean." The boy winked, still grinning. Enjolras snorted.

"Special girl? My only mistress is my country. And you're right, I don't understand.

The subtleties of the human heart is one erection I don't—" he was stopped in his

lecture by Marius punching his arm. "There's your problem! Love is not something

you read, it is not something you can take courses on to master. Love's midpoint is

the heart, not the head, and perhaps when a pretty girl catches your eye, you'll

figure that out." Enjolras laughed and ruffled his hair. "Just go to sleep. You need the

energy." Marius grinned back and lay down, his eyes almost immediately fluttering

shut. As soon as they had, however, his smile disappeared, and he whispered, "Do

you think she'll weep if I die here?" Enjolras sighed, not wishing to discuss such an

adverse subject, but reluctantly replied, "I don't see why not, understanding the love

you share." That put a tiny smile back onto the boy's face, and, as Enjolras turned

away, he murmured one more time, "Enjolras?"

"Yes, Marius?" the leader replied patiently.

"You will feel it some day. You will realize… what it's like… to truly… know."

But when Enjolras turned back to ask exactly what he meant, Marius was fast asleep.

But deep inside, he knew. And, despite what Marius thought, he did know love. Love

was what he felt for Patria. Brotherly love was what he felt for the men fighting

beside him. Well, men and _woman_. He turned to look for the subject, and found that

she was nowhere to be found. His first thought was one of panic. Had she been

captured? Had she snuck past the safety of the barricade, straight into the arms of

the enemy? His nightmare from those several days ago flashed into his thoughts

without warning; cold and dead, marine-tinted eyes lifeless. He shuddered away

from the thought, deciding to go look for her. He knew she was smart, more than so,

actually, and that she would not just go waltzing into the enemy's line of fire, but to

soothe his restless thoughts, he set off.

**A/N ****: Well here we are! ****The battle! strukkfirst, are you satisfied now? XD And would ya look at that; they're in the lead, too! By God they've won the day! (quote Grantaire) **

**Nawww… Enjolras and Marius having a bro-talk. Poor Marius… and Enj, for that matter, considering love is such a baffling concept to him. I mean, a field the omnipotent Enjolras doesn't understand? What has the world come to? :O**

**But… where is Lynette? Perhaps if you shoot me a quick review, I'll give you a clue. ;) R&R please; this seems to be becoming an "updated every Sunday" sort of fic! ~DonJuana**


	10. Chapter 10

"Please Lord; if I die, let _me_ die! But let _him_ live. Bring him home to her…" the

stranger whispered beseechingly. Lynette watched as he made the sign of the cross

once more, then sat down on a crate, looking up at the sky. "Are you alright,

Monsieur?" she asked, approaching him. He looked up at her, surprised, but then

smiled politely. "Quite, my dear. Just saying my nightly prayers."

She laughed weakly. "It seems like prayers are what we need now. God doesn't

usually hand out more than one miracle at a time."

"You'd be surprised, Mademoiselle. God can be very generous, should your

faith be strong enough." The man replied, smiling gently.

"That's a very prudent statement." She commended, smiling back.

"Well, I've had quite a while to perfect such sayings." He chuckled. "What's

your name, my girl?"

"Lynette." She answered simply, sticking out her hand. He shook it, saying,

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lynette. My name is Monsieur Fauch—no, it is no

use lying anymore. Monsieur Valjean." He told her.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Monsieur… Valjean." She nodded graciously,

trying to ignore the bizarre falter.

"Lynette, forgive me for asking, but, what's a lovely girl like you doing tangled

up in this frenetic revolution?" he questioned.

"I thought you might ask that. Well, I'm leading it, actually." She blushed. His

eyes widened in surprise. "Leading it? But what about that blonde fellow?" he

inquired.

"Oh, that's Enjolras. I should have been more specific. I'm _co-_leading it." She

explained.

"That is still quite the…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"It's alright Monsieur, speak your mind. I understand if you think it is a

reckless action." She laughed, surprisingly not irritated with the unspoken

accusation. There was just something about this man's presence… something so

passive and generous that you couldn't possibly be angry with him. "Well, I do admit,

it does unease me slightly, but not for the reason you think." He told her, looking

into her eyes.

"Not because I am of the fairer sex then?" she guessed, puzzled.

"No. You remind me a bit of my daughter; she has the same exultant eyes and

bright smile." He conveyed, smiling warmly at her. She grinned back, "I'm honored

sir, and sorry to worry you with my safety. But justice is my passion, freedom my

goal, and Patria my love. The least I can do for her is fight for veneration." She stated.

"What judicious words you have for one so young!" he exclaimed in

admiration.

"Speech has always been my specialty, Monsieur. Without it, I don't know

where I'd be." She said, shaking her head before looking up at him again.

"Now I see why they follow you. A well-spoken man… or, woman, should I

say, usually comes hand in hand with a natural born leader." He affirmed.

"Much obliged, Monsieur, I'm glad you think so." She thanked him.

"Speaking of their listening to you, I suppose I should be thanking you. One

word from you and your friend… Enjolras? backed off and handed me a gun." He

itemized.

"Oh! There's no need to thank me, I honestly got lucky. When he's that

vehement, there's usually no stopping him." she replied honestly.

"And yet you did. He must esteem you very highly." He commented

thoughtfully.

"Oh, I don't know about that. We certainly hold each other's respect but…"

she trailed off, realizing she was red-faced and babbling. Why?

"I'm certain he does. It took but a second after you stepped in front of him for

him to go from livid to pacified." He said.

"Oh, well…" she began, unsure of what to say.

"Just, thank you. I appreciate your trust." He cut in, and she shot him a

grateful smile. For a moment it was silent, and Lynette looked up at the stars,

listening to the faint singing and talking coming from the main camp. Suddenly, she

thought of something that didn't make sense. "Monsieur Valjean, if you have a loving

daughter, why are you not home with her? Why have you come to fight in this battle

when the risk is so high that…" she gulped, forcing out the words she'd avoided

saying out loud until now, "you might not come home?" He was silent for a moment,

but she waited expectantly for his answer. Feuilly was an orphan, the others with

family issues of their own, and she was mistreated, left undefended by her own

mother. When he had such a welcoming home, how could he bear to leave it? He

sighed, finally answering, "You seem like a trustworthy girl. You see, the reason I am

here _is_ out of love for my daughter." Her confusion must've showed clearly on her

face, because he continued, "You see, she fell in love with one of your recruits, and I

know if he falls here she will never recover. I came to protect him, to make sure he

returns to her safely." He finished. Lynette's eyebrows shot up. "You're _her_ father?

Marius's sweetheart?" He chuckled, eyes dancing amusedly, then responded, "Yes, I

believe that was the boy's name. You see, my daughter has a habit of talking to

herself when she is troubled, and I happened to hear her doing just that as she was

packing up her things, going on and on about _her_ Marius, who was to fight at the

barricades, whom she might never see again, whom she loved with all of her heart. I

knew she'd never forgive me if he died and she never even got to say goodbye, so I

decided to watch over him myself." He elucidated to her.

"That's… wonderful. She's lucky to have such a generous father." Lynette said

shyly. He smiled cordially at her. "Thank you, Lynette. But please, this needs to

remain between us. Neither the boy nor my daughter can know that I was at the

barricade." Lynette nodded at his plea, though she wished she knew why this was so

essential. She told herself he was just a humble man who didn't need to show off his

liberal deeds to quench her curiosity, and pushed it to the back of her mind. "The

truth is, I am quite distraught on the inside. When they are reunited, I'm sure they

will plan to be married, and before long, she'll be gone, leaving her Papa behind." He

whispered, looking down at the cobblestones. Lynette was saddened just watching

him. For the first time since he'd arrived at the barricade, this gentle, protective man

looked heartbreakingly _vulnerable_. And yet, through the power of love, he was going

to protect the very man who would whisk his daughter away from him, all to ensure

her happiness. It was incredibly fascinating to Lynette, how one could be so fiercely

loyal to another that they haphazardly toss aside their own happiness to guarantee

the other's. She felt a pang of remorse as she realized how she wished someone

would love _her_ that way; for even her brother, whom she was closer to than anyone

else, was not as unconditional. "I know how hard losing someone is, and I know that

change is something more alarmingly fear-provoking than anything else in this

world, but Monsieur Valjean, you are not alone. One of my favorite quotes of all time

is, 'Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting their own battle.' I adore this quote

because it is relatable to every human being on this planet we call home, and it is so

_real_. Everyone goes through hardships, everyone faces the unknown, potential

terrors of variation. So, as I always try to when something I'm going through is hard,

just remember that no matter how alone you feel, there are thousands of others who

feel the exact same way. Just till through it, think of the brighter times that lie ahead!

You know that you are her father, and will always hold a special place in her heart.

You will not be left behind or forgotten just because she grew up." she finished,

looking over to him with a blush. "I'm sorry, I went off on a rant, didn't I?" Monsieur

Valjean shook his head sharply as if trying to awaken from a trance, then replied,

"Oh, no! You were— you—it was perfectly fine. My, Miss Lynette, let me once again

reiterate how intoxicating your words are. It… gives me great solace when you bring

forth such facts. Your philosophical lecture has left me feeling much better about

what is to come, as well as a few powerful truths. I will try to think of those when I

begin to worry; Cosette's happiness, not parting pains." He said, nodding gratefully.

"So thank you very much, Mademoiselle."

"My pleasure, glad to have helped." She smiled temperately back at him.

Suddenly, they heard a faint, "_Lynette!"_ from what sounded like the opposite end to

this isolated part of the barricade Monsieur Valjean had found, and she immediately

recognized Enjolras's voice. "Well, it seems I am needed elsewhere." She sighed,

standing up.

"Ah, well good luck in whatever the task may be. It really has been a pleasure

talking with you, Miss Lynette." He bowed his head, smiling.

"And the same goes to you, Monsieur Valjean." She replied, turning on her

heel and walking off. She stopped only once more, shouting back, "He really is a

good, sweet boy, Monsieur. He'll take good care of her." And with that, she was off to

meet Enjolras, who had not yet ceased calling her name. There was an urgent tone

to his voice, and she quickened her pace when she recognized it, frowning. "_What _

_could be going on?_" she thought.

**A/N: ****Sorry for the short chapter, but I simply wanted to end the suspense. ;) Plus I got a review from the lovely strukkfirst, and wanted to thank her with an early update. I actually really liked your theories, m'dear; even if they weren't the happiest! They were very well thought out and would have been an interesting twist in the plot. **

**What will happen next? Will the battle take a turn for the worst? Will DonJuana update again on Sunday? Would you be so kind as to drop me a review if you've been enjoying this? ;) ~DonJuana **


	11. Chapter 11

Enjolras's restlessness grew as he called her name with no response; for though the

barricade was vast, she should have heard him. "Lynette!" he yelled once more,

deciding to try one final time before alerting the men that she'd disappeared.

"What, what, _what_? I'm here!" she exclaimed from behind him. He whipped

around to see her jogging towards him, concern plain on her face.

"Where in the world were you?" he probed agitatedly.

"Wha—nothing's wrong then?" she asked quickly, eyebrows knitting

together.

"No, of course not, you were just nowhere to be found!" he articulated.

"Well why was your finding me so crucial then?" she asked, exasperated. He

opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. What had made him so anxious in

the first place? It's not like she would foolishly leave the barricade. "I… I was…

worried, I thought somehow you'd been taken prisoner." He responded, heat rising

to his cheeks.

"Oh. Well, um… thank you for your searching for me, I guess. But look who's

got pre-battle paranoia now?" she stumbled, surprised by his fretfulness, before

finishing with a teasing smile. He chuckled, amused. "Well forgive me; I wouldn't

want one of our revolution's leaders, especially one so intellectually valuable, to fall

into enemy hands."

"Intellectually valuable? Careful sir, you'll make me blush." She shot back,

though he thought he heard a hint of timorousness in her voice.

"You must know by now how much I mean what I say." He said simply. For a

moment it was silent, and Lynette once again looked up at the stars. They shone

down upon them with such light; illuminating the sky and watching over everything

that lay below. She realized that if only one twinkled in the sky each night, the world

would be swallowed up in complete darkness; for that one lone star would have to

shine on its own. But with the hundreds and thousands of others, it formed a radiant

glow, never standing unaccompanied, never getting lost in the night. It reminded her

of their own numbers, and how their light was strong, but not strong enough

without the people they'd anticipated to rise up and join them. "Why do you think

they have not come yet?" she whispered, looking down. Enjolras needed no further

explanation; by the tone in her voice and the aspects of her face, he knew exactly

who she meant. "I don't know. Perhaps they are waiting for just the right moment…

perhaps they want to carry the element of surprise." He replied confidently. She

exhaled luridly, looking up at him with the stars reflecting in her eyes. "Are you

frightened?" the question was barely louder than a breath, but that didn't stop it

from shooting out at him like a slap in the face. All of his concerns, incubuses, and

pessimisms came rushing back all out once; bursting forth from the wall he'd built

up in his mind blocking them. He couldn't answer. He couldn't admit audibly how

slim their chances were. Then it would be there, suspended above him. Then, it

would seem _real_. "There is still time… there are a few more hours yet for them to

join us." He answered resolutely. She was silent for a moment, but then looked down,

avoiding his eyes, saying, "I always say, 'If I die, I'll die for Patria. But why won't

Patria do the same for me?" He was shocked by her subjugated words; was she

really fearful? He couldn't blame her, but he couldn't believe how quickly she was

losing hope. She, the woman who'd dove headfirst into this revolt without so much

as a second thought. She, who adored her homeland to an extent that rivaled even

_his_. He couldn't let her deteriorate, he had to remind her why they were here. But

she seemed ashamed of her feelings, her negative words. Her eyes were downcast,

and a small frown disrupted the usual confident optimism that was her pretty face.

"Look at me." he began, stepping closer so that their faces were just inches apart.

"Look at me!" he exclaimed, much more firmly, and, to his relief, he looked up.

"There is still time. And even if they don't come, which, if they hunger for liberation

even _half_ as much as we do, is very unlikely, we'll still have showed these bastards

what true courage is, and we'll finally get to display just how passionately we love

our country." He felt his heartbeat quicken as her felt her warm breath tickling his

cheek, but he tried to ignore the strange reaction. She half smiled at him, looking

him square in the eyes. "You're… you're right. Forgive me, with tensions so high and

one death already so early in the fight, I guess I get a little doubtful. And that doubt

clouds my mind, making me forget the_ real_ reason for all of this." Her grin widened,

that radiant, mischievous sparkle returning to her eyes. "What would I do without

your practicality, Enjolras?" she giggled.

"Most likely go mad with paranoia." He kidded back.

"Hey, last time I checked, my suspicions were more accurate than yours." She

fired, pointing at him in a sort of mock-accusation. He opened his mouth only to find

he had no response. He laughed in spite of himself, saying, "As much as I'd like to

retort, what you say is true. We're lucky little Gavroche was around, or else perhaps

we wouldn't be standing here right now." His eyes widened slightly as he realized

what a true statement it was. She simply grinned. "Yes, Gavroche. He's a very clever

child. I like him; he's got the same spunk I see in…"

"Yourself?" Enjolras cut in, amused.

"Finishing my sentences now, eh? Careful, Monsieur. That's a dangerous

game to play with a weaver of words." She laughed, the elated sound cutting through

the night's shadowed silence. It was as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders;

hearing her bird-like laughter. Her sorrowful guise had left him feeling anxious, as if

her fear had not only left her vulnerable, but wounded him as well. The expression

of joy was a sort of consolation; after hearing it, he grinned and breathed a sigh of

relief. She was smiling again. "You're absolutely right, I dare not challenge such an

experienced master of speech as you. I'd do nothing but expose myself to shame." He

responded, bowing his head submissively.

"Good choice." She beamed proudly, obviously pleased with his comment. But

after a minute, her smile faded to a weak half grin, and she reached up and touched

his cheek. He was shocked by the intimate action, and prayed that he would not

flush, that she would not hear how his heart had, without warning, sped up to a

throbbing hum. "Lord Enjolras, do you have any idea how worn out you look?" she

whispered, brow creasing in concern as she ran her thumb ever so gently over the

area under his right eye. "My mother used to always tell me, 'Netta, if you get to the

point where you can clearly feel that your bags are as thick as your cheeks, you

haven't slept enough." Enjolras didn't answer. All he could focus on was her

fluttering touch, which contained so much warmth and solace, not to mention

reminded him of his own mother. He hoped his expression didn't look too shocked;

he didn't want her to know just how much this was confusing him. What was wrong

with him? Why couldn't he think straight? Why could he barely remember how to

open his mouth? Instinctively, he shook his head to try to rid himself of the haze, (as

he often did when he was lost in thought) and she, surprised, dropped her hand

immediately. "Oh. Sorry. And I'm sorry if my nagging is annoying you as well, I'm

just worried your being tired will slow you down in the next clash." She explained,

eyes twinkling amusedly.

"Oh no, that's not why… I mean, not that I… just, never mind. It's nearly dawn

now, there's no way I could just lay down to rest. I gave orders for everyone to

remain alert, and that includes myself. _Especially _myself, in fact." He stumbled before

finishing firmly. He was not going to negotiate, not when he could have new recruits

to instruct at any minute. Obviously his expression explained just that, because she

shook her head with a playful smile, saying, "Be careful of that steadfast

stubbornness, Enjolras. I wouldn't be surprised if it got you killed one day!" Then

she slapped her hand over her mouth, speaking through it, "Oops! That's the wrong

joke to make here."

He simply laughed in reply. "Perhaps…" he teased sarcastically. She smiled,

still chuckling. After a moment of silence, she said, "I'd better go; I was supposed to

find Combeferre to check over our ammunition when I had the chance."

"Oh, alright. Let me know what our numbers are." He bowed his head.

"Of course. Have a good rest of the evening." She returned the gesture,

flashing him a pearly grin.

"Same to you." He smiled back, her contagious beam grasping him. And with

that, she turned on her heel and bounded away, graceful and lively as a young

stallion. He watched her until he ducked out of his line of sight, still curious as to

what about her left him speechless at times and chortling irrepressibly at others.

**A/N:**** Hey! So sorry I didn't update yesterday! It's been a hectic week, with more to come! =/ **

**Anyway; another short chapter! But fear not, brethren! For the next chapter is big and long and one of the most riveting yet! :D **

**Not much else to say, but have a great day; love you all! R&R! ~DonJuana**


	12. Chapter 12

Enjolras jolted awake, nearly toppling over as he realized he was still standing up.

He was leaning up against the side of the barricade, and he had to put his head in his

hands as all of his hazy, obscure dreams came rushing back to him at once. It hit him

like a blow to the gut, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Foggy, they were, but he

suddenly remembered that every one had included her. Some were nightmares,

some were blissful; but all were centered around her face, her smile, her _eyes_. There

was one phantasmagoria, clearer in his head than the others, that especially focused

on them. He was just standing before her, and her eyes were closed. When he called

to her, they snapped open, and suddenly they became a massive blue-green wave,

washing over him and dragging him beneath the surface. This is where it became

hazier; at some points he was sinking, drowning; but enjoying it with a smile on his

face. At others, he was terrified because she'd suddenly appear in the waters beside

him, air leaving her lungs in bubbling screams. She'd be so close, but not close

enough for him to reach her. The images switched back and forth between the two

feelings; serene joy, sinking deeper into her eyes, and frantic alarm as he watched

her drown before him. He'd never before experienced such a dream sequence, and

the eeriness of it all left him panting where he stood, trying to force air into his lungs

as if he'd never breathe again. He tried to steady his abrupt dizziness by looking up

at the sky, which was a consistent, non-swaying light purple, to his relief.

Light purple…

He snapped to attention before he could even finish the thought. He'd nodded off!

He'd given into his exhaustion, and now it was no more than an hour before dawn!

He cursed under his breath, then straightened and began walking in the direction of

the main camp. He arrived at the speed of light, clapping his hands to wake any men

who might have done the same as he. His eyes flew to the watch post, where

Grantaire stood, having taken over at some point in the night, surprisingly fully

awake and alertly scanning the horizon beyond the barricade. The others were now

sitting up, fully attentive, and, after a few minutes of hollering, the entire unit was

standing in front of him, guns strapped to their backs. He smiled widely when he

saw their quick response, but that grin was wiped away when he instigated a head

count and came back with their usual thirty-five; and that was including the old man,

Lynette, and himself. He'd tried to graze right past her as he'd spotted her in the

crowd, but he found he just couldn't quickly tear his gaze away from those haunting

eyes, looking at him so expectantly. As soon as he finished, he knew something was

wrong. "Grantaire, where are the new recruits?" he shouted up to the man.

"New recruits?" Grantaire cocked his head, bemused.

"Yes, the last minute volunteers, the people coming to heed our call?"

Enjolras shortly explained, though a strange feeling had begun to settle in his gut.

For a few moments, the entire barricade was silent. Even the wind ceased to blow as

if waiting for the sober scout's response.

"There… there were none." Grantaire answered in a murmur. Quiet as it was,

everyone heard him. And those were the exact words Enjolras had hoped to avoid,

the very words that would send his entire world crashing down on top of him. They

had not come. They had left the very men fighting to save them to die. And die they

would; for without even the minimum number he'd anticipated so exactly, so

intimately in his plans, they would not have enough men to defeat the army arriving

in just a few hours. His gaze flew fearfully to Lynette, and he saw that she instantly

found the panic in his eyes, and her own widened in anxiety. With just that one

exchange, just that brief glance between leaders, they both knew that they were all

going to die. And, as he gazed into her oceanic eyes, he was gut-wrenchingly

terrified…

For her.

As he watched emotions dance across her beautiful face; watched her smooth, tan

skin crease in worry, her full, pink lips part in a silent 'o', her chocolate waves quiver

in the nervous breeze, he suddenly didn't care about the loss that had just been so

painfully realized. All he cared about is that _she_ would live, that _she_ would escape

this deathly, hellish fate. That was the moment when he really realized he'd fallen in

love with her; when he noticed that when he looked at her, he felt the same blazing

love and concern that he did for his country. He didn't know how it had happened,

he didn't know when. He just _knew_. In a sudden rush, in that one moment;

everything that Marius had said made sense, everything was clear. No, he hadn't

been caught in a burst of light or felt his heart set fire when he had first laid eyes on

her, but he did know that she was everything he desired; a perfect package of

intelligence, kindness, generosity, spunk, and strength, not to mention her flawless

beauty. Lynette had squeezed her way into his heart, and now he found that she'd

stolen it completely, become a second Patria. He loved her, and if she died today…

He abruptly realized that he'd been standing there, frozen, for several minutes

straight, and the crowd of men had begun to shift uncomfortably, waiting for him to

say _something_. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her.

"The people have not stirred," he began quietly, "They abandon us, too caught up in

their fear. But we will not abandon them just because they cannot hear our

desperate call, the call of freedom." He looked around gravely, watching as the truth

hit each and every one of them. "But, let us not waste lives. All the husbands and

fathers of children may go from here." There was complete stillness as his words

sunk in, and the message was as clear as if he'd shouted, '_We're all going to die in a _

_matter of hours!_' But when someone did move, it was not to cry out, it was not to

gasp in agony. It was one of Lynette's men, a young, strong, healthy lad, sifting

through the crowd to stand in front of her. "If I could stay to finish what we started, I

would. But my wife and daughter are waiting for me at home, and I must return to

them. It's been a pleasure working under you, Mademoiselle Lynette." He told her,

saluting. Her face remained somber, but she replied, "It's been nice having you,

Jonah. Tell you wife and little girl we fight for them today." He pursed his lips, her

comment obviously moving him, and nodded before slipping away to bid farewell to

some of the others. His action sparked the others, and soon Enjolras too was flooded

with the men leaving them, shaking his head and wishing him Godspeed. And before

long, they were gone, disappearing along with any last string of hope they might

have had. Enjolras looked out at the diminished group, counting fourteen men,

including he and Lynette. He skimmed over the faces of his closest friends, a lump

settling in his throat. None of them looked fearful, depressed, or even angry towards

him. They each had a weak, hopeless smile on their face, and for some reason, that

made the lump swell even more. Suddenly, Combeferre came forward, holding out

his hand to Enjolras. Enjolras took it and embraced him, clapping him on the back.

"I'm sorry to have lead you into this." He whispered weakly. Comebeferre leaned

back and glared at him. "You didn't. I _followed_ you into this. It was my choice, and if I

hear you blaming yourself, I'll shoot you myself." He grinned.

Enjolras chuckled, answering, "Like the time you 'followed me' straight into

that pond in the woods?"

"Liar. You pushed me." Comebeferre laughed gaily.

"Ah. So I did." Enjolras snickered. After this exchange, Combeferre went to

Lynette, and said, "Miss Lynette, let me just say you are the sharpest woman I've

ever met, both in intellect and attitude." It was something she'd normally take as a

challenge and return quick-wittedly, but not today. She gave him a quick hug, saying,

"And you, Combeferre, are wise as an old sage and the most loyal man I know. It's

been a pleasure serving with you." Then she suddenly turned away from him,

raising her voice just the slightest bit. "In fact, it's been a pleasure standing

alongside all of you. I know I've only known you for a few days, but in those few days

I found more of a family in you than I have in my own family in a few years. Thank

you, brothers." Grantaire came down from his post as she was saying this, and, after

she'd finished, he smiled widely at her, stretching out his arms. "Well, doesn't Uncle

Grantaire get a hug?" he asked her.

She grinned back, laughing quietly. "Of course, Grantaire." She went over to

embrace the former drunkard, who made no comment as she did. And, as the men

continued their goodbyes to each other, she went around to each and every one of

them, doing the very same with each of the men she'd called her 'brothers'. After

Feuilly and Joly had come up to him, Enjolras was faced with Marius. "So there really

is no chance then?" the young, lovesick pup asked.

"Not with so few of us. We'll die, but at least we'll do so in Patria's proud

name." Enjolras answered, then his brow knit in concern. "Do you want to leave? If

you go now, perhaps you can—"

"And then what? From what she's said, her father would let me nowhere near

her. I'm staying, Enjolras. If I can't have her, I can't live." He responded simply.

Enjolras clapped his shoulder. "That's a noble action to take. I'm happy for you… I

guess." Marius chuckled, then nodded and walked away. Out of the corner of his eye,

Enjolras saw the old man watching Marius with a strange, soft look in his eyes.

Curiosity set in, but he ignored it as Courfeyrac and Lesgles approached him. Then,

as he was in the middle of his final valediction with the two, Feuilly began to sing

again. "_Drink with me to days gone by, sing with me the songs we knew…" _And without

another words, the others joined in, "_At the shrine of friendship, raise you glass high! _

_Let the wine of friendship never run dry!" _And as they sang the last line, the final part,

Lynette began walking towards him, step so elegant it was as if she were floating

above the ground. "_If I die, I die… with you._" And with that, the lump in his throat

exploded into a dreadful pain, as their eyes locked, brown on blue. Before she could

even reach him for her adieu, he'd bounded towards her and taken her hand, pulling

her towards the back alleyway of the tavern. He ignored her confused protests,

creaking open the door and tugging her into the storeroom. It was surprisingly well

lit for so early in the morning, but he figured Combeferre had simply done a final

check-over while he was asleep. He turned to face her, and the second she did she

exclaimed, "What the hell are you doing?"

He laughed gently in spite of himself. "My, I was beginning to think you never

cussed."

"Don't give me that, Enjolras, what is going on?" she asked, a bewildered

expression congealed on her face. His own grew serious, and he looked into her

dazzling eyes, taking a deep breath. "Alright, this is going to be one of the strangest

things I've ever said to you. I need you to… somehow keep yourself safe in the

coming battle." Her mouth opened in surprise, and her face puckered in an amazed

befuddlement. "What?"

"I need you to keep yourself safe, shield yourself from the coming dangers."

He repeated, voice breaking in his burningly fearful concern.

"Wh—wh—are you suggesting me to flee?" she asked, completely perplexed,

as if she couldn't even believe he was asking such a thing of her.

"If that's what you think will save you, yes." He replied firmly.

"So you're expecting me to run and hide after all of our careful planning, all of

our preparation? Abscond from the battle I've been waiting for nearly all my life?"

she retorted. He opened his mouth to answer, but none came. He realized it was a

lost cause to ask her to run, it would be like asking the sky to stop being blue.

Impossible. "Well, alright, maybe not. Asking you to do that would be like, well…

asking me to do that. You just have to promise me you'll be more than careful. Make

sure you're safe and out of harm's way at all times." He begged her desperately.

"I—just—what has gotten into you?" she stumbled, inquiring peculiarly.

"I can't… I can't lose you." He whispered weakly, despair striking his features.

"Wh—what do you mean by that? Enjolras, tell me what's going on right now

or I'll—" she began shouting, exasperated, but he cut her off…

Crushing his lips to her. He just couldn't hold it back anymore. He could feel her

slight gasp just before he made contact, but, to his relief, she seemed too stunned to

pull back or hit him. He closed his eyes and let sudden, foreign emotions wash over

him, feeling as though he'd been struck by lightning. Electrifying. Except this was

different; this was one of the most pleasurable things he'd ever felt, with its catalytic

heat coursing through him like electric flames. Her hair was as soft as he'd imagined

it would be, and he reached one of his hands up, catching the back of her head to pull

her closer to him. At first, it was as if he was kissing a statue, she was so frozen and

unresponsive. But soon, her instinct must've taken over, because he felt her lips

begin to move with his, and the sudden action sent a shiver down his spine. He was

blissfully surprised by how happy this was making him feel; he had no idea that one

little exploit could carry with it so much gratification. He felt her reach up and wrap

her arms around his neck, and the arm that wasn't at the back of her head tightened

around her waist, pressing her against him. Their mouths moved together as if

connected, and each tiny movement he felt her warm, tender lips make made his

heart detonate into a blaze. And then, all at once, it was over. She pulled away

suddenly, gasping and leaning up against his chest. He was breathing heavily as well,

wobbling slightly as that kiss had taken his breath away. So he just stood there,

feeling her dark brown locks tickling his neck and jaw, mouth open in a dazed

ecstasy. He had just kissed the girl he loved, and her glorious responses had made

him feel wondrous things he'd never felt before. "D—does that answer… your

question?" he breathed. She was silent for a moment; the only thing he could hear

was her breathing and the wild beating of his heart. But then she managed, "When

did you—"

"I don't know. I just realized that I couldn't live without you, and if you died

today, I'd never forgive myself, even if I was watching from the Promised Land." He

answered in tones barely above a whisper.

"I… I don't know what to say." She uttered, backing up a step. He immediately

grabbed her nimble hands with their long, elegant fingers, and looked her in the

eyes, saying, "Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll keep yourself safe." He thought he

saw her eyes begin to glitter, but he must've imagined it, because he blinked once

and it was gone. "I… I… I don't know, Enjolras! Everything's happening so damn

quickly right now! I'm so overwhelmed, so confused… I can't think straight." She

exclaimed feebly, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose

between her forefinger and her thumb. He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to

ignore the aching disappointment he felt at her words. He couldn't blame her;

finding out she was likely to die, having to lead a group of men into a slaughter, and

hearing his declaration of love for her all in a matter of twenty minutes was a lot to

take in; not to mention the fogginess of mind she probably felt right now if that kiss

had been as ardent for her as it had been for him. "I understand, it's a lot happening

at once. But please, at least promise me your welfare." He pleaded, boring his eyes

into hers.

"I—alright. I guess it's the least I can give you right now. You have my word."

She replied sincerely, before turning and heading towards the door.

"No, stop!" he called. She turned around to face him, but, suppliant as a child,

all he could say was, "Stay." She whipped around, hiding her face. "I'm sorry." She

whimpered before dashing out the door. He stood there, wanting to yell and laugh

and cry all at the same time. He'd done what he needed to; she would take utmost

caution during the battle to ensure her walking away from it with her life. But he

now found that all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and kiss her,

holding her there, protecting her, until this whole nightmare had passed over them.

But he knew that was one thing she'd never stand for. She'd said it herself; she was

not about to run and hide from the battle she'd dedicated so much of her life to. Hell,

she may not even feel the same way for him! Why in the world would she agree to

something like that? A new, frightening thought crept over him, and he imagined the

situation where they both survived, but then she walked out of his life forever as

soon as the feat was through. He couldn't bear it if he'd finally found his living,

breathing Patria, and then she disappeared, never to love him as he did her. But he

couldn't think that way; he knew that he had to use her lack of response as a reason

to live, a reason to come out of this battle unscathed. She'd never said she _didn't_ love

him, just that she was too jumbled to answer right then. Perhaps she'd find she did…

or perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps he was letting his hopes soar,

only to fall and be shattered later on. But it didn't matter. He would use it as motive

to fight. He would fight for her.

**A/N****: And… there it is. The exciting chapter I promised. ;) **

**What's this? Enjolras… in love… with a **_**real**_** woman? **

**Bwahaha I am so evilly fluffy. This much fluffiness in writing should not be legal. And yet I am soooo glad it is. XD And there's more to come, too! *laughs devilishly* I do hope you'll keep reading to see what else is in store! Including… the end of the battle. It is nearing, dear readers. How will our hero and heroine fare? R&R! ~DonJuana**


	13. Chapter 13

"How do we stand? Feuilly! Make your report." Enjolras shouted over to the

weapons master. The army had come about an hour after dawn, and it was now at

least noon; they'd been fighting for several hours now. He had been amazed at their

ability to fend off the corps with so few men, especially since their opponents had

nearly doubled in size since yesterday's battle. More officers had been killed than

students, the only one downed on their side so far. But their adversaries had not yet

tried to advance forward; it was obvious they were patiently waiting for the

students to run out of ammunition before they finished them off. And once they

pressed onward, the battle was over. Their only job now was to shoot as many men

as possible. "We've got enough guns, but we're running out of ammunition." Feuilly

stated anxiously.

"Here! Enjolras! I'll go into the streets and pick bullets off of the officer's

bodies!" Marius suggested, beginning to climb up the barricade. Enjolras caught his

arm shouting, "I can't let you go, there's too much of a chance!"

"Well, it's the same risk for anyone of us, and someone needs to do it!" Marius

replied austerely.

"Then I'll go! He's no more than a boy, while I am old and have nothing to

fear." The old volunteer stepped forward, pulling Marius down. Enjolras was about

to give his consent when a tiny cry rang out, "I volunteer! You need somebody

quicker!" He whipped around to see Gavroche scrambling up the side of the

barricade, a huge, pleased smile plastered on his face.

"Come back Gavroche, don't you dare go any further!" Joly roared at the boy.

"Someone, pull him down at once!" Lynette cried out, watching the little boy

with eyes wide with fear. But the boy ignored all their shouts until he stood proudly

on top of the barricade, beaming down at them. "Look at me, I'm almost there!" But

then a shot rang out. A bullet flew through the air. A little boy cried out in pain. A

body came tumbling down the side of the barricade. Joly, Enjolras, Lynette, and Jean-

Prouvaire, who were the closest ones to him, rushed to his side, kneeling down and

searching for the wound as Joly pulled out some of his tools and liniments. Marius

and the old man started to join them, but Enjolras waved them away shouting,

"Someone needs to keep them from advancing!" Then he turned back and looked

down at the face of the brave, sometimes rather cocky young boy, realizing the child

was murmuring something. He leaned in closer, and, out of the corner of his eye,

saw Lynette do the same. "Li—little people always know… so never kick a dog

because it's just a pup. W—we'll fight like… twenty armies, never standing… down!

You'll find yourself… r—running for cover… when the p—pup… grows…" he babbled

hoarsely before the light left his eyes, signaling his death to the people who were

now watching him oh so carefully. "No." Enjolras heard Lynette whisper, looking

down, horrified, at the child. "No!" she yelled, much louder this time. Then, her head

snapped up, and all three of the men around her were shocked by the disgusted hate

burning in her eyes. "Those… those devils' spawn! Murdering a _boy_ without so much

as a second glance!" she snarled, glaring daggers at the direction of the barricade as

she cocked her gun.

"Easy now, Lynette." Jean-Prouvaire said, attempting to mollify her. She

turned to look at him, the rage in her eyes clearly defined. "No! How could you even

say that! You knew him even longer than I did! And they just slew him! A boy, an

eleven-year-old boy!" she reverberated. But she didn't get the chance to move one

bit more before Enjolras grabbed her, holding her arms back, as he calmly said, "Go,

get the body away from here."

"Enjolras! Let go of me! Release me this instant!" she screeched, thrashing in

his arms. Now, she may have outdone him in speed, but in strength, she never stood

a chance. She was strong for a woman, there was no doubt of that, but Enjolras had

always been solid as a rock and healthy as a horse; one of the best-built men in Paris.

As soon as Combeferre, Jean-Prouvaire, and Joly had left the scene, taking

Gavroche's body with them, Enjolras turned the still-struggling Lynette around to

face him. "Lynette." He said softly. But she was not looking at him; her gaze was

locked on the barricade. "Lynette!" he bellowed harshly. And it worked, she stopped

writhing for a moment to glare at him. "He's gone. There's nothing we can do about

it. We'll continue fighting for him, but you need to calm down before your fury gets

yourself or someone else hurt." He ordered. All in a moment, the anger dissipated

from her face, and she broke down sobbing, tear flowing from her eyes like tiny

rivers. "H—he was just a ch—child! He had so much of his l—life ahead of him, and

they killed him! They k—killed him like he was nothing but a fly on the

windowpane!" she wept, burying her face in her hands. Seeing her cry like this was

like a slap in the face. He had no idea what about the death of this little boy had set

her off; perhaps because she was already just so close to the edge. Whatever it was,

it pained _him_ watching her, and, aching to do something for her, he pulled her into

his embrace. She didn't protest; in fact, she buried her face into his chest, letting her

tears soak into his shirt. After a minute of hesitation, he slowly leaned down to rest

his cheek against her hair, relishing the softness of it against his skin. He realized

that this could be the last time he ever held her, whether he survived the day or not.

He said a silent prayer against it, then began to try to slow her wretched sobs. "Shh…

please, don't cry. He wouldn't have wanted that." He breathed. She sniffled, but then

answered, "On the contrary, I think he would have adored the attention." They both

laughed weakly, and she stepped back prudently as soon as they'd stopped. "We

must get back." She affirmed, voice level again. He nodded in reply, trying to hide his

displeasure. She halfway turned, but then stopped and curved back around to face

him. "Thank you." She whispered, lightly craning her neck to peck his cheek. Then

she was gone, once again jogging off away from him. He touched the place her lips

had brushed him with a wide smile. It was a tiny, insignificant action; one women

often used to express gratitude, but it was something, and he couldn't help hoping it

_meant_ something, too.

~~o~x~0~x~o~~

The day dragged on, and with each hour that passed, _they_ got closer, someone died,

and the number of bullets drastically dropped. Now the deaths had really started to

take their toll on him; added to the pile of bodies was Joly, Lesgles, and Bahorel.

Enjolras had fought back tears as two of the merriest and one of the boldest men of

les Amis were dragged off, and realized that the one doctor they'd had on site was

gone. They were on their final round of bullets, the army was creeping closer every

chance they got, they had no medically trained men to help the wounded, and he

rapidly grasped that the end was near. His train of thought was cut off precipitously

when he heard someone smack to the ground beside him. He fired the shot he'd just

loaded, then turned to see Feuilly on the ground beneath him, his shoulder gushing

blood and his neck craned at an odd, unnatural position. He couldn't help but notice

that the fan maker's fate had been even worse than he had seen in his nightmare a

few days ago, and had to turn away to keep the stinging tears from welling up in his

eyes. At least it had been quick. Lesgles hadn't been so lucky; he'd writhed in agony

for over an hour before death finally took him. But, had Lesgles ever been lucky? He

tried to chuckle at the thought, but found that the awful situation had made the

action impossible. He found himself frequently glancing over at Lynette, who, true to

her word, was being extremely cautious, only firing a shot when she was absolutely

sure the army's attention was elsewhere, and never from the same area twice. He

was relieved; at least he knew she was honestly trying to respect his wishes, but he

couldn't keep his fearful mind from making him scour her out. Suddenly, he heard

the marching of a hundred feet all at once, and braved one glance over the top of the

barricade only to be met with the shadows of the newly born night. It frightened him

that he could no longer see them; but within the minute, he could hear them. "You at

the barricades, listen to this! The people of Paris are asleep in their beds! You have

no chance, so why throw your lives away?" a gruff voice shouted at them from a loud

hailer. Enjolras signaled to the others to climb down and meet him on the ground,

and they did so without question. "I think we're all in agreement here. Let us die

facing our enemies." He said, looking around at the remaining men. "Make them

bleed while we still can."

"Make them pay through the nose." Combeferre nodded in agreement, raising

his gun in the air.

"Make them pay for each and every one of our fallen comrades!" Courfeyrac

cried out. Enjolras, Lynette, Grantaire, Jean-Prouvaire, Marius, the old man, and two

others cheered in agreement, then rushed back towards the barricade. Before he

climbed back up, he caught Lynette's arm and turned her around to face him. "I love

you." He said simply, then grabbed the red flag of freedom and began his ascent,

ignoring her protests and questions. He had one last charge to lead, and now was

the time, for he had begun to hear their uniform boots making their closing march

towards the barricade. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marius fly off the side of

the barricade, defenseless as he climbed, but he had no time to mourn the loss of yet

another one of his friends. He stopped right at the top of their blockade, took a deep

breath, said a quick prayer, then stood up tall thundering, "Others will rise to take

our place until the earth is free!" and waved the red flag high. He heard a few

whoops of agreement, and had just begun to smile when he felt a searing pain

course through his left shoulder. He couldn't help it, he screamed in pain. His hand

flew up to where the torturous anguish had erupted from, and when he looked at his

hand, he saw it stained in scarlet. '_No,_' he thought in tormented bewilderment, '_That _

_couldn't have been a bullet! There's no way such intense pain could come from so small _

_and sleek an object.'_ It was as if he'd been stabbed with a sword covered in metal

thorns, and it spread throughout his torso until it was so unbearable that he

dropped their glorious flag. Then, another stabbing, burning, intense pain tore

through his right side, and he let out another yell. His vision was blurring, and he felt

himself falling backwards. '_Please, let the fall kill me_,' he begged silently, the

excruciating, horrendous agony making him wish for an eternal sleep to end it all.

He never knew the human body was capable of undergoing such penetrating pain.

As he was falling, he couldn't believe how long it was taking him to hit the ground,

and he wished he could shout in frustration for gravity to hurry up and crush him

against the cobblestone already, wished for _anything _to end this unspeakable

suffering, which now felt like white-hot flames pulsing through his veins, charring

anything and everything that stood in their path. He saw black dots dancing across

his eyes, and, right before he closed his them, he heard the most beautiful,

heartbreakingly petrified cry of his name. "_Enjolras!_"

**A/N****: Dun dun DUUUNNNNNNN! So the final battle arrives, and Enjolras is hit. Twice. All I can say is that this story isn't done just yet, but that you'll have to keep reading to find out just how much longer it is. **

**Gavroche. The kid cracks me up. Is it weird I almost cried as I wrote his death?**

**There's a really really **_**reeeally**_** long chapter coming up next to make up for this barely-over-a-thousand-words one; don't you worry! **

**R&R, pretty please! :D ~DonJuana**


	14. Chapter 14

The phrase, "hit the ground running" had never been truer and more literal than it

had the moment Lynette leaped off the side of the barricade and sprinted to catch

Enjolras and keep him from breaking every bone in his body on the ground below.

She dove and made it in the nick of time, ignoring the way her knee was torn up on

the rough stones. She placed her hands delicately beneath his head and his back,

supporting them. "Oh God, no. No, no, no!" she yelped, panicking. "Wake up,

Enjolras! Wake up!" she yelled, shaking him gently. She received no response, and

hot tears began welling up in her eyes. '_No!'_ she screamed in her head, looking down

at his drained face. The she placed him back on the ground and reached for his shirt,

tearing it open to find the wound. And as she did, she felt something that made her

heart leap for joy. The slow, barely there, rising and falling of his chest. He was alive!

She shrieked in her respite, then gathered all of her strength and began dragging

him towards the tavern, the only place sheltered enough to be safe for a while with

the army fast approaching. A bullet whizzed not two meters from her, and she

winced as she felt its wind, but pressed onward. The pain in her knee was more

evident now with the effort she was giving, but she pushed through it, knowing

she'd never forgive herself if she let him die. Suddenly, she stumbled over a

projecting cobblestone and fell with a thud, Enjolras's head knocking abrasively

against the rock. She cursed herself before reaching over and cradling his head in

her hands, checking to make she hadn't given him a whole new wound to worry

about. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone else moving there on the

ground, and, desperate for any help she could get, she whipped around towards

them. It was Monsieur Valjean, and to her surprise, he had Marius slung over his

back. "Monsieur Valjean, Monsieur Valjean!" she screamed wildly, waving one of her

arms in the air. He turned to look at her, and his stormy grey eyes widened at the

sight of her. She spotted several emotions flashing through them; fear, guilt,

uncertainty, pity. But, to her horror, he turned away as soon as those feelings had

settled. "No, no please! Monsieur Valjean, I beg you! I love him!" she screeched

madly, looking from her unconscious companion to the man who'd just frozen

where he stood. But she had been pushed to her wit's end. She leaned over

Enjolras's bare chest, sobbing and blubbering, "I love him, I love him, I love him!"

over and over again. She'd lost track of time earlier in the day, so how long she lay

there, weeping over the body of her beautiful, wonderful, lost cause, she could not

say. All she knew is that after a while, she realized that something was blocking the

moon, casting a shadow over her. She looked up, expecting to see a soldier or two

with their weapons aimed to kill, but instead saw Monsieur Valjean, holding out his

hand to her. She took it, and he helped her up. "You're lucky you remind me of my

daughter, now more than ever, Miss Lynette." The merciful old man said, and she

wanted to throw her arms around him. "Thank you, thank you so much!" was all she

could manage.

"What happened to him?" Valjean asked, leaping right into the matter at hand.

"He was shot… twice, I believe, and he's unconscious." She whimpered,

looking down at the rebellious leader, who was paling too quickly for comfort.

Valjean nodded curtly, then took her hand in his free one. "Lynette, I need you to

listen very carefully. You cannot follow me, because I have someone dangerous

hunting me down, perhaps as we speak. I will help you carry him down the alley and

out to a safe place I know, but from there, I can't promise any more help, at least not

tonight." He explained quickly, and she nodded eagerly, desperate to try anything

that could save this man who she'd now realized she passionately loved. She'd been

too inundated before to even _think_ about whether or not she returned the feelings

he'd so avidly expressed, but, as she'd watched him fall, watched death race towards

him, nipping his heels, she found that if he died, he'd take her heart with him. She

didn't know how. She didn't know when. She just knew.

The consistent marching was sounding closer every second, and Monsieur Valjean

said somberly, "Come. If we're going to get them out of here, we must leave now."

She nodded, and then they both worked together to swiftly lift Enjolras out of his

pool of blood, she grabbing under his knees and he dealing with his arms. Lynette

watched in awe as he masterfully walked backwards towards the alley he'd been

about to enter minutes before, steps impeccable even with the weight of two grown

men weighing him down. She'd underestimated him completely; even though he

was an elderly man, he was as strong as a robust youngster in his prime. They kept

moving forward without a single exchanged word or a single glance back, fearing

words would give away their position and that a glance back would only bring

horror to the beholder. No, she did not dare glance back, she simply kept her gaze

locked on Enjolras. Every once in a while he'd let out the quietest of gasps, or his

right eye would twitch, and, though these were expressions of his torment, she'd let

a few joyful tears slither down her cheeks; for these tiny, woeful reactions told her

that he had not yet left her. They continued on like this, stealthy as alley cats, for a

while, turning around corners and warily walking down shadowed sidewalks; once

even riskily crossing a street. But before long, they came upon a street with two

rows of quaint little houses, and Monsieur Valjean motioned for her to set the men

down. She did as he asked, then listened closely as he began to instruct, "Go knock

on the fourth house down on the right. When a woman opens the door, tell her you

are a friend of Monsieur Madeline and that your friend desperately needs medical

attention."

"But what about you?" she inquired worriedly.

"I have one last thing to deal with before I can return home, and I need to

make sure that if I'm being tailed, the man following finds me and only me." he

replied darkly.

"Oh. Well, do be careful." She responded awkwardly. He simply nodded

before stooping over to pick up Marius. "Wait, Monsieur Valjean! I know I'll never be

able to repay you for this, but please know that I am more than grateful for what you

have done, and that I wish you, your daughter, and Marius the best of luck." She told

him.

"You're welcome. The same goes to you and yours." He replied, pointing to

Enjolras. She felt a flush rising to her cheeks at his comment, but it was a good sort

of heat. And with that, they parted, Valjean headed for the sewage drains that would

lead him home, and Lynette for the house the latter had described. She looked down

once more to pick Enjolras up, and she silently pleaded as she stared at his stony

face, "_Hold on, Blondinette, just a bit longer now!" _but the blank, white pallor that

enveloped him frightened her to no end. She gathered up all of her remaining

strength, grabbed him under the arms, and began dragging him down the street as

quickly as she could with his limp weight and her skinned knees slowing her down.

After what felt like years, she arrived at the house of interest, kneeling down before

the door and resting Enjolras against her, knocking on the bit she could reach.

Seconds dragged on, and for a moment she feared that no one would answer her

frantic rapping. But then, as if God had heard her buzzing thoughts, the door swung

open. A woman looking to be in her mid-thirties stood there, and, seeing her

kneeling before her, her brow creased. "We have nothing to give you. Be gone, waif."

The woman frowned before beginning to close the door. Lynette's hand flew out to

catch the door, crying, "No, please! Monsieur Madeline sent me here!" Desperate

tears were once again forming in her eyes. To her nearly delighted respite, the

woman stopped. "Monsieur Madeline? What do you know of him?" she asked

suspiciously.

"The man is a saint; he helped me in a most desperate time of need." Lynette

explained quickly, glancing down at Enjolras, whose breathing had grown hoarse

and slowed considerably in the past half an hour.

"That certainly does sound like my old friend…" the woman said, biting her

lip thoughtfully. Lynette couldn't hold it in any longer. They'd waited too long as it

was. She burst out, "Please Madame, my friend here is in critical condition. Monsieur

Madeline didn't tell me what kind of help I'd find here, he only assured me that there

would be some. Madame; I know you don't know what's going through my head,

where I came from, or even who I am, but I am _begging_ you. He'll die. He's nearly

there already." She pleaded, tears running down her cheeks and her voice breaking.

The woman was silent, looking at her and the man in her lap, lips pursed in

indecision. Suddenly, just when Lynette was convinced all of this had been for

nothing, a little voice from inside the house besought, "Please, Mama. Monsieur

Madeline brought me sweets once, and I don't want the pretty lady's friend to die."

"Angelika, go back to bed." The woman said tenderly, turning to her daughter.

Lynette leaned ever so slightly to the left and saw a little girl with jet-black ringlets

just touching down to her shoulders in a lacy nightgown standing behind her

mother, holding a ragged doll in one hand. "No Mama, not until you let the pretty

lady in! Please, she can share my room! You can make her friend all better!" the child

implored, her glittering, curious eyes staring widely up at her mother. The woman

sighed, looked out at the strangers on her doorstep, then back into the deep,

pleading eyes of her only daughter. "Alright, come inside. Any friend of Monsieur

Madeline's is a friend of mine, I suppose." The woman said after a minute, breaking

into a halfway semblance of a smile. Lynette's dry, cracked lips stretched as far as

they could go in a reassured, grateful grin, and she exclaimed, "Thank you, Madame,

bless you! I'll be forever in your debt!"

"Oh, there's no need for that. Come now, let's get him inside." The woman's

smile widened and softened, and she bent down to help Lynette carry Enjolras into

the house. As they moved swiftly through the main hall of the house, Lynette asked,

"So are you medically trained, Madame?"

"Yes, my mother was a nurse in the Napoleonic Wars, and she taught me all

she knew before she passed on." The woman explained shortly before calling to her

little girl, "Angelika, could you open the kitchen door for me?" The girl had flown to

the knob before she even finished the entire sentence, and within seconds they'd

burst through the doorway and laid their unconscious cohort down on the table. The

woman rushed over to some of the cabinets in the small room, throwing them open

and plucking out a cloth bag and several different bottles. Then she turned back and

set them on the table, taking her first clear, good look at Enjolras. "What exactly

happened to him?" she asked, needing as many details as possible about this very

nasty looking wound. Lynette hesitated for a moment, wondering whether this

woman would throw them out should she find out they were children of the

barricade, but then she decided to just leave that bit out. "He was shot twice

somewhere in the upper body." She justified, staring down at his open shirt, which

looked more red with white spots than the other way around now. The woman

pulled the shirt completely off, reaching down and opening her bag. She pulled out a

silver tool that looked much like a pair of tongs, then easily found the first wound; a

ghastly hole in his shoulder. The bleeding had barely slowed, and now she could see

that the area around it was turning an unnatural blend of inflamed red, deep purple,

and greenish-yellow. The sight made Lynette's stomach churn; not from sickness,

but from terrified concern. The woman was obviously as shocked as well, for she

just stood there, staring at the two gaping, gory gaps in his sides. Seconds ticked by,

silence overtaking all in the room. But then, the woman took a deep breath, turning

to Lynette. "I'm not going to lie to you, Mademoiselle. This is one of the worst bullet

wound cases I've ever seen." She said, her expression grave. Lynette closed her eyes,

trying to keep her eyes from blurring with tears. '_Not after all this!'_ she was

screaming in her head as she found the hidden implication. "But… he will live?" she

whispered hopefully in spite of herself. The woman hesitated for a moment, then

replied, "I cannot promise anything. I'll try my best, but to pull through not just

having the bullet wounds, but the infections as well, he'd have to be one of the

strongest people alive." For an unknown reason, those last few words relit the tiny

glimmer of hope inside Lynette. But she said nothing, just nodded, and the woman

set to work. Lynette had to force herself to watch as the woman extracted the two

metal bullets that had pushed this resilient, seemingly unstoppable man to the edge

of death. Her only comfort in the gruesome procedure was when the first bullet was

removed, and he emitted a tiny gasp, the fist sign of life she'd seen in a few minutes.

And from there, the woman flew through her work masterfully, pouring various

antibacterials, balms, and other medicines on the two wounds, thoroughly cleaned it

out, stitched them up, and finally, after about two hours of suspenseful treatment,

she wrapped padded bandages all over his upper torso. Then she turned to Lynette,

sweat beginning to form on her brow. "I've stopped the bleeding for the time being,

but not before he practically bled himself dry. He's lost a lot of blood, Mademoiselle,

not to mention he's feverish now from the infection because he's body's

overworking itself." She took Lynette's hands, hers sticky with dried blood. "I'm

going to be honest with you girl; it would be a miracle from God himself if he lived

through this." She finished quietly, looking into Lynette's eyes sorrowfully. Lynette

simply nodded slowly, her throat too closed and choked to speak. The woman saw

her tears, however, and rubbed Lynette's arms maternally with a gentle look in her

midnight blue eyes. "But we will move him to the guest's quarters, make sure he's as

comfortable as possible. I'll redress his wounds in the morning, and between the

two of us, we'll be more than able to keep checking up on him in the night." She

continued soothingly. Lynette smiled gratefully. "Thank you Madame. I cannot even

express how grateful I am." She said in gratitude.

"No trouble at all, child. It's the least I can do for a friend of Monsieur

Madeline." She smiled kindly. But then she stopped, inquiring, "That reminds me;

what's your name, dear?"

"I'm Lynette. Pleasure to meet you, Madame…" she trailed off.

"Desmarais. But you can call me Florence." She answered, warmly shaking

her hand. Then, with not a minute more wasted, they picked Enjolras up off the table

and made their way into the guest bedroom. They propped him up on the bed with

several pillows, and then Lynette covered him with a nearby quilt. She just stood

there for a moment afterwards, looking down at his pale, pained face. He looked so

vulnerable… where had the strength gone? Where had the fierce courage and

fervency disappeared to? It was as if all of those wonderful, passionate feelings and

beliefs had drained out of him with the spilling of his blood. She could feel the hot,

stinging tears welling up in her eyes for the who-knows-how-many-eth time, but her

anxious train of thought was cut off when Florence gasped, "Oh, Lynette! Look at

those knees!" Lynette looked down, and saw that her pants were torn at the

kneecaps, the edges stained with blood. Her left knee's skin was ragged, and dry

blood crusted everywhere, and her right was less damaged, but still scraped and

bleeding. "Oh. _Oh…_" Lynette breathed, looking at them. Not that her full attention

was not on Enjolras, she really noticed how her injuries throbbed burningly. She

said not a word more, but her gasp and facial expression told Florence Desmarais

everything she needed to know. "Come on dear, let's go get those fixed up." she

beckoned, and Lynette followed her gratefully. They scurried back into the kitchen,

closely followed by the little girl, Angelika, who had ignored her mother's orders of

going back up to bed for the past few hours, and continued on as their second

shadow. Lynette was instructed to sit up on the wooden table, and she obeyed.

Florence set to work clearing away the dried blood, and a period of silence settled

between them and stayed present for at least fifteen minutes before Lynette broke it

saying, "So, Florence, how do you know Monsieur Val—Madeline?" she faltered. To

her relief, Florence seemed much too absorbed in her work to notice. Lynette still

didn't know why the old man had used a pseudonym, but she didn't want to be the

one slipping up and betraying him. "Oh, it was many years ago. My husband

Fauchelevent and I had just been married, and were living in Montreuil-sur-Mer,

where he made his living as a street vendor for our farmed goods. One day, a

runaway cart ran him down and trapped him beneath it. No one would help him,

and before long I thought all was lost. That's when a rich man stepped forward and

lifted the cart off of him. That man was none other than Monsieur Madeline, to

whom I was extremely grateful. Afterwards, he'd saved my husband's life; it was

only natural that I should want to repay him, but he was gone a second later, and

then about a week later I found out that his factory had closed down because he had

disappeared without a trace. Rumors flew that he was a criminal on the run, but I

refused to believe them after the deed he had done my family. Then, I believe it was

eight years later, we left the town, moving to Paris after our crops were destroyed.

And who do I run into after about a month of living there, but Monsieur Madeline!

And my, how surprised he was to see a familiar face!" she laughed merrily as she

dabbed a cloth soaked in a strong smelling liquid on Lynette's injuries. It burned like

hell, but she bit the inside of her cheek, drawing blood, trying to keep from crying

out, as Florence had begun speaking again. "He was walking down this very street

with his daughter, such a pretty young thing! I hadn't even known he had a daughter,

and now she was standing right in front of me, a fourteen-year-old young woman.

We talked for a bit, and then I insisted they stay for dinner. So they did, and as my

husband and I chatted with l'Monsieur, his sweet daughter watched and played with

my little Angelika, who was only four at the time. They bonded straight away, and

Cosette was so patient with her! Angelika adores her, always asks when she'll visit

again. And visit again they have; we'll get together every once in a while to catch up.

But he's a funny man, that Monsieur Madeline. He insists we not talk about the past,

not even his saving of my husband's life! I respect his wishes, but it certainly sparks

curiosity…" she trailed off, then looked at Lynette. "Well, that's my story. Where do

you know him from?"

"He… well, he volunteered for a cause I was involved in… then gave me some

good advice before helping me in this dark hour." She replied cautiously, running

her words over in her head once before saying them aloud. Florence simply looked

at her and chuckled, then shook her head saying, "Lynette, you don't have to be so

guarded. I know all about the revolution; it's been the talk of the neighborhood for

the past few days. Where else would a man get shot _twice_ at this hour?"

**A/N:**** Well he's not dead… yet =/ **

**Hope this satisfied y'all for the time being; I felt bad about leaving you at such a huge cliffhanger. So… surprise! EARLY UPDATE! **

**Aww… Lynette's finally admitted to loving Enjolras. X) But will her heart be broken** **by his slipping into an eternal sleep… or will he recover and learn of her recent revelation? Looks like the suspense isn't over just yet, folks. Yes, I know, I know. I'm cruel. ;) **

**And another thing; meet Angelika and Florence Desmarais—the latter of which seems to know all about the revolution. Will she throw them out in the streets for their "riotous behaviors"? All (or, most) questions will be answered in the next chapter! R must I really say how much I adore hearing from and conversing with you? ~DonJuana**


	15. Chapter 15

"Oh. I didn't know that news had spread so fast." Lynette replied, blushing.

"All of Paris could hear the battle raging on, dear. And I'm sure, like me, all

were secretly hoping for your success." Florence told her, winking. Lynette looked

down, flashes of the battle racing through her head. She'd pushed it to the back of

her mind when Enjolras was hurt, and now that she was alone with her thoughts, it

all came flooding back. They'd fought for the very people who'd abandoned them.

Great men had been murdered because others were too afraid to stand beside them.

Combeferre, Grantaire, Éponine, little Gavroche… all dead and gone, fates decided by

the cowardice of others. Irate tears welled up in her eyes, and she closed them

immediately, not wanting Florence to see them. The older woman obviously noticed

her change in ambiance, however, because she instantly fell silent. They worked the

rest of the way in silence, and, once her tears had dried up, Lynette took the

opportunity to sneak a peek at the little girl sitting on a stool in the corner. She'd

just realized how, without Angelika, they might never have been let into the house in

the first place. She looked to be no older than seven, perhaps even younger, and her

eyes, the same dark shade as her mother, watched her Maman's skillful movements

with a curious eagerness that you would find in most other girls her age over things

like candies or hair ribbons. Abruptly, she caught Lynette's gaze, who smiled kindly.

The child giggled and turned away shyly, playfully refusing to meet her eyes. After

this, Florence finished wrapping up her knees, and, to her surprise, the burning

liquid that the nurse had been cleaning her wound out with had now cooled, leaving

a soothing sort of tingle. Lynette got off the counter and bent her knees slowly.

There was a dull aching, but to her relief, she could stand and walk without much

pain. "Looks much better." Florence commented, smiling.

"They are. I cannot thank you enough." Lynette grinned back, then turned to

little Angelika. "And you, my friend; thank you as well! If not by your urging, I may

not be standing here right now, and my friend might be dead!" Angelika broke out in

a small, bashful smile, staring at Lynette commendably. Florence took Lynette's

hands then, and squeezing them, said, "No trouble at all. And speaking of the little

miss, you, my dear, have lost too much sleep as it is. Off to bed now, Angelika." She

continued, waving the little girl off.

"No mama! What about Miss Lynette? Where will she sleep?" Angelika cried

out.

"Oh. Yes, I seemed to have forgotten about that. We only have one spare

bedroom, you see…." Florence trailed off, turning back to Lynette.

"She can sleep in my room!" Angelika burst out excitedly. Lynette chuckled,

then said, "I appreciate the offer, little one, but I think I'm going to stay with my

friend tonight. I want to make sure he's alright."

"Oh, ok. I guess that's important." Angelika sighed, trying to mask her

disappointment.

"But… how would you like to play with me tomorrow?" Lynette asked, trying

to enlighten the child's mood. It worked like a charm, a beam lit of the girl's face.

"Ok! I've been looking for someone to play with my dolls with me!" she bubbled

brightly.

"That sounds lovely! But for now, can you listen to your mother for me?"

Lynette smiled. The little girl nodded vigorously, then, without another word,

turned and began skipping down the hall. "Much obliged, Lynette. That was very

helpful." Florence said, watching her daughter go, wide-eyed.

"No trouble at all. She seems like such a sweet girl." Lynette replied, smiling

warmly.

"She really is, just so lonely. There aren't any other girls her age in the

neighborhood, and with my husband always gone preforming his boonmaster duties

and I working around the house, she so often ends up playing by herself." Florence

sighed sadly. "That's why she takes to strangers so well; it's one more person who

might agree to play with her."

"Well, it's the least I can do, and I'm happy to help." Lynette assured good-

naturedly.

"Well thank you, I know she'll appreciate it." Florence smiled appreciatively.

Then, she straightened her skirts, saying, ""Now, why don't we get you situated for

the night? You looked exhausted, dear." And for the first time in that long, dreadful,

horrifying night, Lynette felt the complete exhaustion she'd worked her way

towards. She was surprised when she didn't collapse right then and there, now that

she realized the full-on extent of her weariness. So, she simply nodded with a tired

smile on her face, and Florence led her back to the guest bedroom without another

word. There, she sat Lynette down in an overstuffed armchair, then scurried out of

the room, disappearing for several minutes, and Lynette was left alone with her

unconscious companion. She found she couldn't take her eyes off of him, scouring

his body for signs of hope. Had he just stopped breathing? No, there was the uneven

rise and fall of his chest. Was that a clenched jaw she saw? Perhaps… maybe…

_hopefully_. No, she was past hopeful. She _needed_ his survival. He'd become her rock in

these short few days, and if he was jerked out from under her, she didn't know what

she'd do. She settled her eyes on his face, which, even in its contorted pain, she

realized to be flawlessly handsome. It reminded her immensely of a mythology book

her brother had once brought her, one with a stunning picture of the sun god Apollo

on the cover. Just the cover alone had greatly intrigued her, with its flaming palette

and powerful image of this strong, beautiful, golden-haired ethereal figure driving a

chariot made of fire. And now, here was the earth-bound Apollo, lying bleeding and

broken in the house of a stranger. How could man be so cruel as to attempt to

destroy one of God's own angels? Obliterate the son of the sun? She abruptly

realized she'd drifted over to his bedside, and, with great prudence, she reached

down and took his hand. It was ice cold, colder than she thought possible for human

skin. She held back a small gasp when she made contact, but forced herself to

remain a firm hold. It was as if he was made from marble; he was so pale, so taciturn.

And yet, when she reached her free hand up to feel his forehead, it was so

swelteringly heated, it could have lit a match. Such a difference in temperature could

not have been healthy. The fever had obviously grown in fervor, and she closed her

eyes, taking a deep breath. "_Please_," she murmured, but a breath in tone, '_come back. _

_Rouse. Stir. Please." _

"Did you say something dear? I—oh." Florence asked brightly, stopping in

her tracks when she saw them. "Forgive me, I should have knocked." She said,

looking down.

"Oh no, it's fine. I was just… checking his temperature." Lynette told her

promptly.

"Yes, speaking of that, I brought this little brew to hopefully pacify it a bit."

Florence smiled, handing her a cup of strongly aromatic, brown liquid.

"But how will we get him to consume it?" Lynette questioned, taking it from

her and looking down at the mixture.

"Unfortunately, the only thing we can do now is pour it down his throat." She

grimaced in reply, gaze flickering to Enjolras.

"But isn't that—" Lynette began, but then bit her tongue. If it could save him,

they needed to do whatever was necessary. "Nevermind. Alright, let's try." Florence

nodded somberly, then they both turned and walked towards their comatose victim.

Lynette picked his head up off the pillow, and gingerly pried his jaw open. Each

involuntary movement she inflicted made her wince; she felt like she would

somehow break him if she made a wrong shift. "Ready?" Florence asked. Lynette

nodded, the closed her eyes as Florence advanced with the cup. Would he choke?

Would this do more harm than good? Too late to turn back now, as she could hear

the liquid trickling into Enjolras's mouth. Seconds passed, when suddenly; there was

a brief sputtering, a wet sensation on her hand. Her eyes instinctively snapped open,

and she saw Florence's remedy running down his face, spewing out his mouth and

seeping out of his nose. She looked to Florence in panic, but, to her surprise, the

woman looked relieved. "Is he alright? Why is he—" she began, but l'Madame cut

her off.

"He's fine. That's actually a good reaction, it means his pharynx sensed the

liquid suddenly presiding and reacted to it. Even though much of it came back up,

this means he swallowed some of it." She explained, smiling reassuringly. Lynette let

out a sigh of respite. It was one of those moments when she realized how lost she

would have been should Florence have sent her away; she would have been

completely flustered by this action, not knowing anything of medicine. Enjolras

would have been as good as dead if he had been left exclusively in her hands. "Thank

you." She said once again, beaming, relieved, at the nurse.

"Once again, you're welcome. Now, there's a few things here for you as well,

dear." Florence responded, turning back and walking to the bundle she'd been

carrying when she'd entered.

"Oh?" Lynette inquired curiously. Florence held up a dress, soft green in color,

and Lynette stifled a groan. She hadn't worn a dress in who knows how long, finding

them to restrict motion much more than pants did. She endured it when she had to,

but her preference had and always would be a durable pair of trousers. But, she took

the garment anyway, thanking her, because she knew her tattered, filthy clothes

would not last much longer. "And there's also more aloe salve for your wounds,

some extra bandages should they be required, and then in that there basket there

are some toiletries, treatments, and other necessities for the morning, as well as an

extra blanket for you." Florence explained, pointing things out as she listed them.

Then, she turned to gaze uncertainly at Lynette. "Are you sure you'll be alright down

here with no bed? Or are you…" she trailed off, eyes widening slightly and flickering

to where Enjolras lay as something clicked in her mind. Lynette realized what she

was pondering, and a blush sprang to life in her cheeks. "Oh! No, of course not. I'm

not… we're not…" she exhaled, somewhat pacifying her stuttering, "I was just going

to retire to that chair."

"Oh. Of course. Forgive me, it was out of line for me to assume otherwise."

Florence answered, and now it was her turn to flush.

"No trouble at all, Madame, it is only natural for you to wonder." Lynette said,

eyes downcast rather awkwardly, cheeks still burning.

"Well, if you're sure you're settled, I think I'm going to head up to bed. If you

need me for _anything_ whatsoever, please; don't hesitate to wake me." Florence

stated, though it resounded with a twinge of commanding. Lynette smiled. "Alright

Florence, thank you. For everything."

"Careful child, you'll wear those words out." Florence chuckled, winking.

"Well, I'm just trying to express the fullness of my gratitude." Lynette replied

sincerely. "Goodnight, Florence."

"Goodnight Lynette." The generous woman replied, then exited the room. As

soon as she was gone, Lynette turned to the basket and snatched up the blanket,

blowing out the room's remaining candle before heading towards the armchair. She

was past exhausted; her eyes couldn't even stay open as she walked towards sleep.

She stumbled into the chair, not even taking the time to properly wrap the blanket

around herself. She sighed deeply, relishing the wondrous feeling of just reclining

back and resting her eyes, not having to think about freedom or barricades…

Barricade. Revolution. It all came flooding back at once, and being alone in the dark

with her thoughts was no help in preventing that sudden influx. All the happenings

of the day had sent her into an emotional overload; she doubted any other being had

ever felt so much in one day. And worse yet, she couldn't even let all those bottled

feelings out because she'd needed to remain strong for the men following her. And

followed they had… right to the slaughterhouse. So many chivalrous men dead,

children dead, freedom and hope dead…

And then, as flashing images of the day's horrors played over and over in her head,

Lynette did what she'd never done before… and cried herself to sleep.

**A/N:**** Florence didn't mind after all! What a relief too; Enjolras's condition is nothing short of critical. =/ This is just a short little chapter, and it's more like a part two of the last one, anyway. There are still questions to be answered, so keep reading! :D And feel free to R&R! ;) ~DonJuana**


	16. Chapter 16

_She was everywhere at once, then nowhere at all. She was teasing him; he could feel it. And it was so like her to do so. Every few seconds he'd catch a flash of russet locks, but when he'd turn towards them eagerly, they would be gone, lost in the blinding light that had been surrounding him since he entered into this surreal new world. Suddenly, he felt her fingers brush over his hand, and he whipped around, only to be faced once more with the blank, crystalline glow all around him. He tried calling to her, tried to tell her to come back to him, but found that he could not speak. He leaned his head back, attempting to shout, and abruptly, her hands, appearing somewhere from behind, were on his cheeks, and he closed his eyes as they ran down his jaw and neck to rest on his shoulders. Then she gently spun him around, and he opened his eyes excitedly. And there she was, heartbreakingly beautiful in this bizarre light, shining brilliantly. She smiled at him, her aquatic blue eyes illuminating. But as he grinned back, drank in the stunning sight of her; her eyes, the only color in this bizarre place, flooded like the sea they were, after a sudden feeling of déjà vu, all went dark. No more striking light, no more Lynette. Just the feeling of water forcing its way down his throat. He was drowning again; coughing and sputtering up the liquid entering his mouth and nose so readily. And then, complete darkness. _

_His eyes fluttered open, and never had he woken up to such a terrible sight. There were clouds in the sky above him, their hue a familiar blood-red, and it was raining ash. He sat up, and was shocked by the heat that he was met with. With wild eyes he scoured the area, which was alive and dancing menacingly with flames, licking closer and closer with each passing second. The temperature was nearly unbearable; it bombarded him mercilessly, boiling the very blood in his veins and causing his skin to blister. The sweat so plenteously soaking his skin felt like tiny flames themselves; for they were so overheated, they sizzled and steamed, burning him. He could feel the holocaustic fire closing in, the temperature rising still, but he found he could not move; the heat was too intense. It paralyzed him there on the stones, which were also hot as the sun's own blaze, and it was so excruciatingly painful that he wished something else quicker than this torture would kill him, anything but the slow and agonizing death by fire. As the flames danced closer and closer, _she_ was suddenly there. "_Enjolras? Enjolras!" _he could hear her crying out. Though the sound was faint and barely audible, he could hear the complete panic embedded in it. He struggled to turn his head, but couldn't see her, couldn't locate the place her voice had come from. It was just ubiquitously resounding from the earth beneath him, the sky above, the flames all around. More shouts came, but he couldn't interpret anything but the terror in her voice. Was it for him? Did she see this uncontrollable fire about to engulf him? He tried to reassure her, tell her that she needn't worry, but when he opened his mouth to speak, it was dry and cracked, and no sound came. And now her sweet, gentle voice was gone, leaving him with only the crackle and snapping of the blaze. Where had she gone? Why had she left him? He opened his mouth to cry out to her, but his pitiful attempt was cut off by a boiling liquid, dripping off the fire, plunging down his throat. He gurgled out a scream, for now the fire was burning him from the inside too. He tried to spit it out, but found that all he could do was gulp it down, for he could not find the strength to sit up. "_At least let her return,"_ he thought in agony, "_let her return so that I don't have to face this dreadful heat alone…"

"Enjolras? Enjolras!" Lynette cried out. She'd entered the room to change his dressings, but, upon approaching his bedside, found him to be sweating like a fiend; skin scalding hot and face twisted in pain. She dropped the medical supplies in her hands and was out the door in four strides, screaming, "Florence! Florence! Come quickly!" The woman appeared at the top of the stairs, closely followed by Angelika. "What is it? What's happened?" she asked frantically.

"I think his fever's gone up. His skin is burningly hot." Lynette explained, dread coursing through her. Madame Desmarais was down the stairs in an instant, and, without a moment's hesitation, off to the kitchen. "Angelika, quickly! Go get Mama some yarrow and peppermint leaves from the garden." She ordered, and the little girl sprinted out the back door. She returned within the minute; a fistful of leaves in each hand. "Left is peppermint, right is yarrow." She told her mother as she handed them over. As Florence went to work furiously on the tea-like solution, Angelika trotted over to stand in front of Lynette, who was bouncing her knee nervously. "It's ok, Lynette. Mama will fix him." the little girl said softly, staring at Lynette with her big, night sky eyes.

"I know that, Angelika. I just can't help being nervous just the same." Lynette sighed in reply, tearing her eyes away from Florence long enough to gaze back at the child.

"Why?" Angelika's brow knit, "If you know he will get fixed, why do you get scared?"

"Well… he is very sick. I'm afraid that… well, I just don't want him to feel much pain." Lynette stumbled, not wanting to explain to Angelika that even her mother the magical healer didn't believe Enjolras would pull through.

"And he feels pain now?" Angelika posed, eyes widening.

"Yes, I think so." Lynette told her sadly. '_What an understatement that is!' _she exclaimed bitterly in her head. Just then, Florence finished the brew, and she took hold of Lynette's arm, pulling her out of the wooden chair she'd sat down in. they rushed into the spare bedroom, and Lynette thought she saw Florence wince at the sight of her patient. "Oh dear. I think you're right." She whispered. Then they set to decanting the tea into his mouth, and Lynette nearly dropped the cup in surprise when he reacted with a yell. She looked to Florence, bewildered, who looked just as stunned as she was. But then something must've clicked in her head, because she bit her lip, saying, "Oh, I suppose we should have let it cool first." Lynette looked back to Enjolras, who… gulped down the liquid. "He swallowed it. He swallowed it!" she cried, looking to Florence.

"Yes, that is progress! I do hope the boiled water did not cause him much discomfort, though." The older woman replied, following Lynette's gaze worriedly.

"When he finds out that he most likely would be dead without it, I'm sure he'll forgive you." Lynette replied simply.

_When he opened his eyes once more, the fire was gone, the heat had disappeared, and he was lying in the middle of a country field. The sun shone bright above him, but, though he feared it would burst into a bloom of unbearable infernos, its rays tickled temperately his cheeks and eyelids, a bright, yellow, happy orb contrasting against the lovely blue sky. The olive grasses rustled against his ankles, and for the first time in this timeless sequence, he felt at ease. The place was quiet and serene, and something told him it would not be bursting into flames or deluged with water anytime soon. He inhaled deeply, a relieved smile springing to life on his lips, and suddenly, slicing through the silence, he heard a bird's call laugh. His grin grew, and he turned to face her, who of course had joined him in this reverie. She was smiling at him again, this time with no oceanic interruptions, and, without a word, she took his hands in hers. He impulsively pulled her close, looking down at her softly. She closed her eyes and leaned up against his chest, and he rested his face in her smooth, silky hair. He didn't know how long they stood there, but the peaceful bliss of their closeness made his heart swell. If enduring feverish fires and drowning in dark waters were what it took to come to this moment, he would have done it again a thousand times over, all because she was now here in his arms. After a while, she looked up at him, eyes shining with adoration, and with that one glance, he realized that in this extraordinary world, she loved him too. And that realization was all the urging he needed. He gently placed his hand on her cheek, and leaned down so that their foreheads touched. She closed her eyes and mimicked the gesture, and, just when he could feel her mild breath tickling his lips…_

He woke.

**A/N:**** My my my I am just full of cliffy's, aren't I? ;) Hope you liked these little dream sequences as much as I liked writing them. I'll try to get an early update in since this chapter was so short, sweet, and to the point; and I should have more time now since I am officially on break. R the more I get, the more prompts there are sitting in my inbox reminding me to update early! ;) ~DonJuana**


	17. Chapter 17

His eyes snapped open, and he gasped when he found his vision impaired by the

light flooding his pupils. Everything looked hazy, but, as he turned his head slightly

to the side, he clearly saw an angel bathing his forehead. He smiled at the sight of

her, this ethereal beauty so tenderly cooling his brow. Then, he saw her blue-green

eyes widen, and he heard her gasp, and was all of a sudden hit with some sort of a

flying force moving at so fast a speed he couldn't even see what had happened.

"Enjolras!" she cried out, and his eyes began to adjust to the brightness. There she

was, his angel, her chocolate curls tickling his face, as the flying force he'd felt was

her throwing her arms around his neck. He ignored the throbbing pain that

emanated from his chest in result of this action, and closed his eyes, whispering,

"Lynette." She leaned back to look at him, and just the sight of her made him sigh. It

was even better than his dreams, because now she was really here beside him. "Do

you have any idea how worried I was?" she asked, voice cracking slightly. And that's

when it all came back to him; the reason he was lying in a bed, pained and cloudy

minded. He remembered the searing pain of the bullets tearing through him, the last

few calamitous before he blacked out on the barricade. His friends who were all

most likely dead now. A million questions sprang to mind, but he started, wide-eyed,

with, "How… how did I survive?"

"It's a long story." Lynette replied gently, re-soaking the cloth in her hand and

pressing it to his forehead.

"Well, it doesn't look like I'll be going anywhere anytime soon." He began to

laugh weakly, but a sharp ache in his side made him stop. She smiled half-heartedly,

then answered, "Well, to give you a brief summary, I caught you before you could

break all your bones on the cobblestone, then, with some pleading, I persuaded the

old man to help me drag you here."

"And where is 'here'?" he asked, looking around at the unfamiliar room.

"The home of his friend, Madame Desmarais. She's been helping me tend to

you." Lynette explained.

"So you've had help? How did you get her to agree?" Enjolras asked, bemused.

Lynette laughed, and, to his pleasure, it was her full, cheerful bird's call; no longer

the quiet chuckle it had been since he woke up. "Of course I've had help; I may have

a way with words, but I'm far from a doctor." She told him, smiling. "She's been

trained as a nurse, and I don't know what I would have done without her."

"Well, I'll be sure to thank her later on for saving my life." He said seriously.

"As if I haven't done enough of that already." Lynette murmured. "It wasn't

easy convincing her to take us in, but when I mentioned Monsieur Valjean, and when

her daughter pleaded with her on our behalf, she agreed. And now that I've more

thoroughly gotten to know her, she of the most amiable of women." She finished.

"And… the other les Amis?" he whispered, though he felt he already knew her

response. Her expression sombered, and she took a deep breath before answering,

"The army was fast advancing as I pulled you away. I'm afraid…. I'm afraid we might

be the only survivors." She whispered, dismayed. He closed his eyes as tears sprang

to life inside them, picturing Combeferre, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Jean-Prouvaire… his

closest companions, dead. And he was alive. He, the leader who had blindly led this

noble group of men straight into a massacre, had survived. How had fate allowed

such a fatal blunder? "I should have died… I was the head… I'm the one who led

them into it…" he groaned. Lynette, seeing his self-accusing pain, let out a

shuddering sigh, then put her hand on his cheek. "Please, don't blame yourself. It

wasn't your fault." she whispered.

"Yes it was! How could I have been so foolish as to think we, a group of

untrained students, could be victorious in a battle against half the French army?" he

exclaimed, reaching up, despite the sharp pain it caused in his shoulder, and placing

his hand on top of hers.

"You can't think that way! You were just doing what everyone knows was

right, it isn't your fault the citizens didn't have the strength to stand beside you." She

argued, eyes glittering.

"They're all dead… they didn't deserve such a fate…" he griped, agonized.

"But there's no way of fixing that. The best thing you can do is live on to tell

their story." She contended, trying desperately to reassure him.

"But are you certain they're dead? What if they had managed to fend some of

them off…" he began, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

"You've been unconscious for four days, Enjolras." she breathed weakly.

"Oh. I… oh." He stumbled, face falling. It went silent for a time after that, as if

they were both soundlessly mourning their fallen comrades. Lynette continued

bathing his temple, and he closed his eyes at the gentle touch of the cloth, so

refreshing and cool against the heat so avidly blooming in his skin. "Enjolras?" he

heard her say the second his eyes fluttered closed. He opened them again. "Yes?" She

breathed a sigh of relief, a sheepish smile creeping onto her face. "Oh, forgive me, I

just thought you'd fallen asleep again."

"And so you decided to wake me?" he teased, grinning perfunctorily.

"Well, I'm sorry, it's just been four days since I've seen your eyes open. Can

you really blame me for wanting them to stay that way?" she shot back, a short-lived

smile appearing then disappearing across her rosy cheeks. "There were some

moments… there were some moments when I thought you weren't going to wake

up." she breathed, a single tear running down her face. She closed her eyes and

wiped it away, then continued, "You have no idea what I saw you go through these

past few days… I've never seen so much blood in my life. You had two wounds, and

they were infected, and then this fever popped up… I was so frightened. Every day

I'd wake wondering if you'd survived the night." She gasped, uneven and raspy, as

more tears came. It made his heart pang to see her in such a state, though hearing

how fearful she'd been for him was a surprise. But then a sudden thought sent his

heart racing, as the final pieces connected in his mind. Could it be?

"Lynette… why _did_ you decide to save me?" he asked quietly, looking up at

her uncertainly. He saw her lips part slightly in surprise, and then he thought he saw

a blush sneak its way up to her cheeks. She was quiet for a moment, leaving him in

an unbearable suspense, but, then she replied, "I… I just couldn't… let you die." He

felt his heart speed faster still, and he began to feel dizzy, but he managed to inquire,

"Why?" More silence, and for a moment he wondered if he'd jumped to conclusions.

But no, for he heard her begin to stutter a reply, "I… well, I just… realized…"

"Do… do you love me?" he breathed, looking at her, dumbfounded. The

gorgeous sea green eyes he'd come to love so much welled up, and a huge smile

spread across her face. And then, though his senses were growing hazier, she

nodded. She nodded enthusiastically, zealously even, and, with that nod, he felt his

heart leap out of his chest. There was a subsequent, sharp pang, but he did little

more than gasp to acknowledge its existence. Lynette loved him. She had saved him

because she loved him. His eyelids began to flutter, his heart obviously too occupied

as it was to handle this kind of excitement, and she saw it. She cupped his face in

both hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, and then she said, "So don't you

_dare_ go dying on me. Not now…" He beamed at her in response, looking at her

breathtaking face, then breathed, "So… so beautiful…" and closed his eyes. _'I must _

_obey her. I must fight this ailment. If God saved me from dying at the barricade, it must _

_be so that I can live for _her_. And live for her, my beautiful Lynette, I shall.'_

**A/N: **** Here's that early update I promised! See—I'm not **_**too**_** cruel, am I? And this was one of my favorite chapters to write. X) It just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! They're finally together! But will Enjolras keep his final promise to himself and pull through his various infections and injuries? Keep reading to see! R&R, s'il vous plait? *****puppy dog eyes* **

**Also just realized that I completely forgot to double space the last chapter. Huh. Sorry 'bout that, folks. ^^; ~DonJuana**


	18. Chapter 18

Florence had warned her that if he awoke, he might not stay conscious for long,

especially if he became overexcited. But he had been awake; after four long,

alarming days, and she had gotten to tell him how she felt. She knew that there had

been something special in that kiss; that no one person could feel so much warmth

and joy without love being involved. And now, she looked down at her smiling

Apollo contently, and found that for the first time in four days, the tears streaming

down her face were ones of blissful happiness. He was going to be alright. They were

going to be together.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the doorway, and

Lynette turned to see Angelika standing at the entrance to the room. "Come on

inside, Angelika." Lynette said warmly, her silly grin remaining ever-present.

"Miss Lynette? Why are you crying?" the little girl asked, confused by her

tears and bright smile combination.

"My friend just woke up." she replied simply, looking back at Enjolras

lovingly.

"So you are… happy crying?" Angelika asked, proud of her realization.

"Yes. Yes, I am." Lynette laughed in spite of herself. Angelika walked over to

stand beside Lynette at the bedside, taking a closer look at the man her mother and

new friend had been so diligently tending to these past few days. The child was

surprised by how pretty he was, almost as pretty as Lynette. "He looks like a prince

from one of my storybooks." She observed, staring curiously at the sleeping man.

"He is a prince, in a way." Lynette answered affectionately.

"He is?" Angelika whipped around to face her, eyes widening.

"Yes. He tried to fight some evil men to save many people." Lynette told her,

simplifying the story of his final battle to childish terms.

"Is that why he got hurt? Because he was fighting the evil men?" Angelika

asked, a frightened expression washing over her.

"Yes. But, thanks to your Mama, he's going to be fine. Just fine." Lynette

whispered the last part, reaching for his hand. Angelika remained silent for a

moment, simply looking inquisitively from Lynette to Enjolras and back again. Then

she asked, "Is he _your_ prince, Lynette?"

"Yes, Angelika. He is my brave, strong, wonderful prince." She replied simply,

beaming.

~~o~x~0~x~o~~

He woke again to the light of a noontime sun shining in through the window, and

within the minute, he heard a, "Oh good, you're up!" He smiled before he even

turned to face her, then found her at his bedside, holding a white bundle in her arms.

"We need to change your bandages." She told him, holding up the dressings with a

cheerful smile.

"Very well." He replied simply, sitting up and grinning. Her positive

countenance was contagious, not to mention the fact that he had just found out she

returned his feelings. He began to sit up, but then was stopped in his tracks by a

shooting pain running through his rib cage. His smile disappeared, and he gasped

before collapsing back onto the pillow, bringing on a whole new round of aches. He

groaned in spite of himself; the pain was absolutely dreadful. "Here, let me help. Tell

me if I'm hurting you." Lynette said softly, reaching back behind his neck and slowly

pulling him upright. While it hurt less, he still had to grit his teeth to keep from

grunting. But soon it was mostly over, and she rearranged the pillows to keep him

upright. He shot her a grateful smile, and, as soon as she was sure that he was

settled, she began unwrapping his bandages. "I'm beginning to think you lied to me

about this Madame Desmarais, Lynette. I haven't seen hide nor tail of anyone else so

far." Enjolras joked.

"Oh, well we have been switching off tending to you. I've just gotten lucky my

past few turns." She winked at him, flashing him a smile. But then she put on an

adorable pout, and asked, "Are you complaining?"

"Not in the slightest. I was just curious, that's all." He replied, smiling genially.

She grinned back, then set to work unwrapping his bandages. He tried to keep his

heart from quickening up as her fingers ran all over his chest and back, then began

rubbing some sort of cream into his wounds. He squeezed his eyes shut as the balm

began working, stinging in his wounds. He instead tried to focus on her gentle touch,

so carefully massaging the medicine in. She'd worked on the abrasion in his side

first, then moved to finish off with the shoulder. And when she had, he grabbed her

hand and brought it to his lips, planting a tender kiss on her knuckles. She smiled

adoringly down at him, then sat down in the stool she'd set up at the bedside,

scooting it as close as it could go. Their faces were just inches apart, and from the

expectant look on her face, he knew exactly what response she was looking for. He

leaned in, closing the space between them, and kissed her. And this time, there was

no unresponsive statue before him; she was receptive, open, and pulling him close

as his confined body would allow. One hand crept to the back of her head, and she

instantly followed his lead, her lean fingers lacing into his hair. The action made his

breath accelerate, and before long they had deepened the kiss, lips moving

harmoniously. He found he could hardly breathe, but didn't dare stop, didn't dare

pull away from such an exquisite moment. His fast-beating heart was adding to the

throb in his sore wounds, but he ignored the pain, too focused on Lynette's fingers in

his hair, her skin brushing his, her lips moving avidly against his. She broke it only

once to breathe, "I love you." Then, he couldn't even reply before she caught his

mouth with hers once more. His heart had heightened to a drone that could rival a

hummingbird, and, with all the blood coursing heatedly through his veins, the

throbbing sting of his wounds grew nearly intolerable. He reluctantly pulled away,

and from the look on his face, she knew something was wrong. "Are you alright?"

she asked, worriedly.

"Just a bit sore. I'll be fine." He replied quickly, craning his neck up to catch

her lips again. But she pulled back, staring at him critically. "Don't downplay

anything, Enjolras. We need to make sure your health comes first."

"A little pain is worth this." He appealed playfully, reaching out and cupping

her cheek in his hand.

"No it's not. I mean… as lovely as that was…" she trailed off, taking his hand in

hers, smiling gently at him, "You're not supposed to get excited."

"We're already past that point, so what more harm could it do?" he grinned

impishly, pulling her nearer until she sat next to him on the edge of the bed. She

clucked her tongued, amused, then stood up. And before she could chastise him, he

noticed something he hadn't before, and his mouth dropped open. "Lynette… are

you wearing a dress?" he asked, shocked. She looked down, suddenly blushing

subconsciously. "Oh. Well, yes, I am. It was all they had that would fit me, and—"

"You look… beautiful." He breathed, gazing at her. Her gown was a soft baby

blue with grey lining, and he saw that the blue of the fabric brought out the blue in

her eyes perfectly. Her coffee-colored hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon,

though a few rebellious strands had broken their way free. Her skin was

rejuvenated, obviously well rested, and, all in all; she was practically glowing, she

was so fetching. She smiled bashfully, cheeks flushing an endearing pink, and she

stepped forward just long enough to plant a kiss on his forehead before dancing just

out of reach once more. "Thank you, Blondinette. I really appreciate that." She said

with a gracious smile. There was no mocking in the term now, though. It was filled

to the brim with affection. He chuckled, then responded, "You know, I never did

figure out a rebuttal for that one. What trivial nickname shall I pin you with?"

"Courte? Nain?" she suggested, rolling her eyes.

"No… Netta. That's what your mother used to call you, yes? I like that. Netta."

He replied, half to himself. She beamed at him, nodding her head in agreement. In

truth, the way he said her old nickname made her heart sing, sent a shiver down her

spine. His voice was smooth and soft like velvet, and his tone as he called her by

nickname reminded her of a loving caress. Suddenly, the door swung open. "Lynette,

Lynette!" Angelika cried out excitedly, running into the room. She stopped in her

tracks when she saw the hurt man _awake_. She gaped at him for the briefest of

moments, then scurried to hide behind Lynette's legs. Lynette bit back a laugh, and

from the amused expression on Enjolras's face, she could tell he was doing the very

same. "Yes, what is it Angelika?" Lynette asked softly, crouching down to look the

girl in the eyes. The child's eyes hadn't yet left the now conscious Enjolras, and she

didn't respond to the question. Lynette sighed before continuing, "Angelika, I don't

believe you've officially met my friend. Enjolras, this is Angelika. Angelika, this is

Enjolras." Apparently the child's curiosity was getting the best of her, because she

took one, just one, cautious step forward, keeping a firm hold on Lynette's arm.

"Hello Mademoiselle." Enjolras said softly, smiling at her. Angelika shot a tiny smile

back, then looked around as if to see whether anyone had seen her. "My name is

Enjolras. What's yours?" Enjolras persisted.

"Angelika." The girl answered softly.

"And tell me, Angelika, how old are you? Fifteen?" Enjolras asked, tone

serious. Angelika giggled. "No." she answered.

"Oh, forgive me, you must be older than that. Twenty?"

"Oh, no Monsieur!" Angelika laughed.

"Not older? How can that be? You look like you could be a duchess."

"I'm six, Monsieur!" she giggled, fingers entwining bashfully.

"Are you really? I never would have guessed." Enjolras smiled at her

charmingly, the full-on pearly beam that Lynette hadn't gotten to see much of at the

barricades. "Thank you." Angelika giggled shyly, then began staring more

interestedly at the man. He was even prettier when he had a smile on. "Lynette says

that you are her prince." The little girl stated with a hidden inquiry. Enjolras looked

amusedly up at Lynette, who had suddenly found the floor fascinating. "Did she

now?"

"Yes, Monsieur. She says you were fighting bad men to save Paris." Angelika

replied frankly.

"She was correct then. Unfortunately, things didn't go as well as I thought

they would." Enjolras told her, sighing.

"Why not?" the child asked, brow knitting together in confusion. Lynette saw

the pain flashing through Enjolras's eyes, and decided it was probably best to veer

away from this stretch of conversation. "Angelika, why don't you go get Adéle and

Henriette ready to play? I don't believe we finished our garden party yesterday."

Lynette said calmly, smiling amiably at the girl. Angelika's face lit up. "Ok! I made a

daisy crown for Henriette this morning!" she bubbled excitedly.

"Wonderful! I'll be out in a few minutes." Lynette told her, and the child

nodded, then flew out the door.

"Thank you." Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he was sure she was

gone.

"No problem at all. I don't really think either of us wanted to discuss it."

Lynette replied somberly. But then a grin crept onto her face, and she prolonged,

"You were very good with her."

"It's the exact way I spoke with Gavroche when I first met him. He practically

swelled with pride when I told him he looked older than he was." He chuckled, then

faded with sadness. "But I didn't know that one conversation would have him

striving to join our cause, lead him places boys his age should never go." Lynette

reached down, tilting his chin up to look at her. "You can't blame yourself for being

kind to a little boy on the streets. You can't censure yourself for being a person

others want to follow." She whispered, smiling mildly. He sighed, then grinned

weakly back at her, saying, "I know you're right, I just can't let it go."

"And _I_ know it's going to be hard for you to do so. But you do need to,

Enjolras. It's in the past. 'Live today, forget the past'." She conveyed with a sweet

smile, sitting back down on the side of the bed, facing him.

"Oh, you and your proverbs." He chuckled before leaning in and pressing his

lips to hers. After a second, she pulled back slightly, moving her lips to brush his ear.

"Everything in the past died yesterday, and everything in the future is born today."

She breathed, and he closed his eyes. "Mm. Tell me another one." He requested. She

planted a kiss on his cheek before transferring to his other ear. "Do not anxiously

hope for that which is not yet come; do not vainly regret what is already past." He

took a deep breath, smiling, as she pulled away to look at him. "Very well done. Were

those all Chinese?" he probed.

"All but the first. Greek." She clarified with a grin.

"Ah. Where do you find all of these?" Enjolras asked teasingly.

"Books. I though you would have heard of them, being a student and all." She

fired back jauntily. Before he could retort, a high-pitched shout cried out, "Miss

Lynette? I'm ready!" Lynette shook her head, chuckling, then got up.

"Duty calls." He grinned cockily, imitating her joke from a few days ago.

"And rather vociferously at that." She laughed, leaning down. "Are you sure

you'll be alright?" she asked. He tipped his head up and caught her lips, then broke

the kiss with a smile. "Now I will be. Besides, we wouldn't want to disappoint

Angelika and Henriette."

She laughed, "Very true. I'll be back soon." before turning on her heel and gliding out

the door.

**A/N:**** I feel almost criminal for writing something so fluffy. Perhaps I should have put a WARNING! at the top of the page. XD**

**Well, there ya have it! He's well enough to sit up without passing out! But things can't stay so perfect and sing-songy forever, you know. **

**Notice to all my readers; I'm going to miss my normal Sunday update next week. I will be out of the country and most likely unable to attain WiFi. :( Sorry about that. I'll make the next chapter super exciting to make up for it; I promise. **

**Notice squared; as the main story of this is coming to a close, I decided I couldn't stay away from Lynette/Enjy for long and began writing these little things I like to call Deleted Scene/Extras. Anybody interested in reading them? I suppose they'd be like a continuation of the story; or maybe just a different POV on things that happened during the main plot. R&R and let me know if this is something you'd like to see from me! :D ~DonJuana**


	19. Chapter 19

Enjolras fell asleep before Lynette returned, and thankfully, this slumber was

dreamless. There were no horrific images, painful deaths, or reminders of what he

had done. Just the big, black nothingness that he had always experienced before the

revolution subjugated his mind. There was only one mistake he made in this

unconscious state, and that was rolling over just a bit too far.

And, with that unpreventable gaffe, a stitch tore.

He was jolted awake by the fiery pain in his side, and he let out a yell so loud, it

nearly shook the house. Madame Desmarais was closest, so she was the first to burst

through the door, the first to see the bloodstain quickly blooming on the white

bandages. Lynette was following behind before the woman had even reached the

bed, and was at her side within seconds. "What happened?" she asked frantically,

looking into Enjolras's handsome brown eyes, which were wide and wild with pain.

"It looks like a stitch tore. Don't worry dear, these things happen all the time.

Painful as they are, they're an easy fix." Florence justified, bidding to mollify the

nervous girl. Then, she didn't even wait for a response from Lynette before

beginning to unwrap the bandages. Lynette winced when the lesion came into view,

perturbed by the bloody mess before them. She could clearly see the ripped stitch,

and the skin it had broken. But Florence wasn't the least bit daunted, she went right

to work cutting out the torn stitch, cleaning up the blood, pressing a cloth to slow

the flow, and finally, sewing up the area of controversy. "Angelika, could you go get

Mama some rubbing alcohol?" she asked the girl evenly. Angelika nodded steadily,

and if the blood frightened her, she didn't show one trace of it. She was gone in a

heartbeat, and Lynette then turned to Florence. "How does she know each of your

treatments by name?" she asked in amazement.

"The same way I knew at her age. From her mother's tutoring." Florence

winked in reply, a small smile turning up her lips, but her eyes never left Enjolras.

"That's an incredible development for one so young." Lynette commented,

awestruck.

"Well, she doesn't know all of them, of course; just the ones we find ourselves

using most often." Florence replied modestly.

"Well, my words are still true. She's a very sharp child with a very good

teacher." Lynette smiled kindly, and Florence blushed.

"Thank you dear. I take great pride in her comprehension." She said, beaming.

Just then, Angelika returned with said bottle, and Florence quickly wet a clean cloth

with the liquid, pressing it to Enjolras's side. Another agonized shout escaped his

lips, and Lynette had to grip the bedpost to restrain herself. The pain in his voice

jabbed at her like a spoke, and she tasted blood on her tongue after biting the inside

of her cheek until it broke. After a few more trepid minutes where the only sound

was Enjolras panting and groaning, Florence finally backed away and looked over

her work. "Alright, all finished. It'll delay healing a bit, but I made sure to stitch this

round up nice and tight. He's going to be just fine." She smiled at Lynette. Lynette

nodded and forced a smile, though it was difficult to do so after that fright. Florence

took one more long look at Enjolras, then said to Lynette, "Come now, we should let

him sleep. Monsieur, rest. You need much energy to heal." Turning to her patient. He

looked up at her hazily, and tipped his head down ever so slightly, marginally

resembling a nod. Florence nodded satisfactorily, then turned and hustled Angelika

out the door. Lynette started to follow, but then she heard Enjolras breathe,

"Lynette…" and she immediately turned back to him, rushing to his side. "Yes,

Enjolras?" she asked hastily, looking into his weary eyes.

"Don't leave…" he rasped, and began to reach out to take her hand. She

stopped him by intercepting it with hers, massaging his hand with her thumbs as

she lowered it back onto the sheets. She looked up and saw that he had closed his

eyes briefly, a smile playing on his lips. She used her free hand to stretch up to

stroke his cheek, and she softly said, "You need to rest." His head gravitated towards

her hand, and he opened his eyes, which glowed warmly, even in their exhaustion,

even in their pain. "Stay…" he respired.

"I'm right here, right here." She purred soothingly. Then he caught her other

hand and held them both in his, murmuring, "Please… lie with me?" She bit her lip

and stood up, answering, "No Enjolras, you can't get overexcited. It'll reopen the

wound and—"

"Please? I just… I just want… to hold you." He exhaled, gazing at her, pleading

her silently with his eyes. She held back a gasp as her heart swelled at his words,

and she knew she couldn't deny him this even if she wanted to. She nodded and

leaned over, climbing into the bed. He met her with open arms, which closed

securely around her as she lay down. She closed her eyes and burrowed her face

into his chest, breathing in his scent, trying to ignore the inkling of blood that she

picked up. She felt his cheek settle on the top of her head, disappearing only once as

he kissed her hair. "My Netta…" she heard him sigh, and she smiled, wrapping her

fingers over his arms, which tightened around her. Heat radiated between them, and

both found solace in the other's presence. Lynette was spent. She'd hardly slept the

past few days; tending to Enjolras and refusing to let him wake and be alone. And

the warmth of his embrace, surrounding her like a quilt, was not assisting her in

keeping herself alert. Her eyelids began to flutter, and, as if sensing her change in

ambiance, Enjolras muttered, "You've been unstinting in your caring for me, Lynette;

it's more than time you take a break."

"What if your fever worsens? Or your stitches tear again?" she murmured,

though her eyes were completely closed and she could hardly focus on her speech.

"Then you'll be right here. It's alright Lynette, I'll be fine. Sleep." He told her

softly, voice smooth and even as silk. She began to nod, but it ended in a deep sigh as

she fell asleep. Enjolras looked down at the strong, assiduous woman in his arms;

her face expressionless and serene and stunningly beautiful. He smiled to himself,

reaching up and stroking her hair. He didn't know how he'd ever repay her for all

she'd done for him; saving him, diligently tending to him, assuring and comforting

him… but he hoped that loving her was a start.

~~o~x~0~x~o~~

Enjolras opened his eyes to find that he had indeed drifted off, Lynette still sleeping

soundly in his arms. The soft light of a new, pink-crested dawn was flooding in

through the window; its rays just reaching them two, tickling their cheeks like a

warm caress. He cocked his head to the side to look down at his lovely companion,

eyes softening contently when he saw a tiny smile on her face. His pointer finger

drifted up to stroke her cheek, her warm, smooth skin immediately washing him

over with a wave of serene jollity. At his touch, he heard her exhale, and, to his

pleasure, she curled up even closer against his chest. He shifted ever so slightly to

tuck her head more comfortably into the crook of his neck, then leaned back and

closed his eyes again. He wasn't lying there for very long when he heard the click of

the door opening, and cracked his eyes open to see the little girl, Angelika, standing

wide-eyed in the doorway, rocking back and forth as if trying to decide what her

next action should be. He opened his eyes the rest of the way and said, "Come in,

Angelika." prying his arm away from Lynette only to gesture the child forward.

Angelika said nothing, but slowly came forward, the cup in her hands dangerously

close to spilling its contents all over the floor. She put the mug in the tiny table set

up next to the bed, then turned and stared curiously at them, eyebrows knit. He

stared back, unsure of what a six-year-old girl would think of this situation. After

several minutes of this silent evaluation, she finally said, "Mama sent me to deliver

your broth."

"I can see that. Thank you very much." He replied simply, smiling at her.

Another period of silence. Then, with a cock of her head, she asked, "Did Lynette get

scared?"

"Sorry?" he inquired.

"Did she get scared, and that is why you're holding her? My mama does the

same with me, sometimes. When I have nightmares."

Enjolras stopped for a moment to think about his response, then decided on a vague

one. "No, Lynette wasn't afraid."

"Then why are you holding her?"

After a moment's hesitation, he replied, "Because _I _was afraid."

"Why Monsieur? What frightened you?" Angelika asked, tone anxious.

"Well, my wound started to hurt very much, and so I got scared of the pain."

He stumbled, attempting to explain simply.

"But it was just a broken stitch. My Mama fixed it." She stated confusedly.

"Yes, but it still frightened me. I… well… when you have nightmares, Angelika,

do you hold your dolls?" he asked, a decent explanation popping into his head.

"Oh yes Monsieur! I hold them very tightly until the monsters go away." She

answered, waggling her fingers in the menacing manner of said monsters.

"Well, you see, I don't have any dolls to hold, so I asked Lynette if she would

sit with me." he justified. Angelika nodded thoughtfully, finally understanding. She

looked once more from Enjolras to Lynette and back again, then asked one final

question; "So, she slept with you?" It was an innocent, completely naïve question,

but he felt the heat rising to his cheeks nonetheless. "Well, yes… but… no… and…" he

trailed off, stuttering. He saw the befuddled look on the child's face and knew that

his explanations would not apply or be anything near understandable to a six-year-

old's impeccable mind, so he restarted, "Yes, indeed she did."

"Oh. Well, that was nice." Angelika commented, smiling. He nodded. "Yes it

was. I'll have to thank her."

"Oh yes, Mama says to always say thank you when someone helps you." she

agreed, turning and skipping towards the door. One word in her reply captured her

attention, and he snapped up, calling, "Wait, Angelika?" The little girl stopped and

turned back to face him. "Yes Monsieur?"

"Are you… are you going to tell your mother that Lynette… stayed with me?"

he asked, blushing furiously once again. Nothing had happened, and he was afraid a

well-to-do woman such as Madame Desmarais would think otherwise; casting them

out of the house before they had a chance to explain the childish misunderstanding.

Angelika's eyebrows knit, and she answered, "No. Why, is it bad?"

"No… I just… oh, I don't want her to know I was so scared." He told her, relief

flooding through him with the dictation of his quick response. Angelika giggled. "Ok

Monsieur. I will keep it a secret." She tittered, smiling amusedly at this big, strong,

pretty man's silly fear.

"Thank you. Much obliged, little one." He said, flashing her a smile. She

giggled and curtsied, then made her swift exit. He laid back once again, letting his

eyes flutter closed.

"That was an impressive performance, Blondinette." He heard suddenly, and

his eyes snapped open. He was immediately met with Lynette's dazzling, living sea

eyes, flashing brightly with amusement. He covered his eyes with his hand and

groaned. "Maudit, how much did you hear? He asked, his embarrassingly red cheeks

deepening even further in color. She laughed perfectly, replying, "Enough to know

that you just avoided sparking a potential dilemma. Well done." He simply grumbled

in reply, so she reached up and took his hand away from his face, kissing his

fingertips. "Good morning." She said tenderly. He couldn't help smiling, taking his

hand from her grasp and cupping her cheeks. He craned his neck down hopefully,

and, to his relief, she made no protest and pressed her lips to his. He responded

hungrily, deepening the kiss, displeased to have been deprived of her lips for this

long as it was. She mimicked his eager movements at first, but then broke off, saying,

"Anything hurting?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if it was?"

"No."

She chuckled, then gave him one more swift kiss before sitting up. "Well, your fever

seems to have gone down, so that's progress."

"How do you know?" he asked curiously, smiling and reaching out to take her

hand.

"I could feel the difference of temperature." She winked, laughing merrily. He

grinned back, heart quickening slightly. But before a word more could be exchanged,

Angelika came bursting through the door. Her midnight blue eyes were wide and

alarmed, and both Lynette and Enjolras instantly knew that something was wrong.

"What is it, Angelika? What's going on?" Lynette asked hastily, brow furrowing in

worry. Angelika shoved a finger up to her lips, then whispered, "There are men at

the door. They said they were looking for revoloolunairnies. I don't know what that

is, but Mama looked frightened when she looked back at me. She said, 'Dearest,

these men have some questions for Mama, so they will be here a while. Can you go

get your _sister_ to start up a pot of tea?' I was confused at first, but she moved her

eyes over towards your direction, so I think she wanted me to come get you. What's

going on, Lynette?"

**A/N:**** DUN DUN DUUUNNNN! Another cliffy! You see? I told you I would make this chapter a thriller! :D**

**In other news; I've returned! And I'm updating early to make up for the lack of activity I've shown whilst I was away! Aren't you proud of me? XD **

**Ouch—that one's gotta hurt, Enjy. Stitches alone are painful; can't imagine what a torn one feels like. X( But hey; it led to more fluff! So it was good for something! **

**Don't you just love it when little kids say embarrassing things in a completely innocent way? Those who have read my story "Eponine Renait" know that I certainly do! XD**

**Also, on another note; I didn't any response on my "Deleted Scenes" notice in the last chapter. I really really really hate to beg, but I need to know if it holds public interest soon so that I can begin drawing out the outlines and cleaning up the ones I've already written if it's something you guys want me to post here. So pretty please with an Enjolras on top let me know! :) ~DonJuana**


	20. Chapter 20

Lynette looked, panic-stricken, to Enjolras, who mirrored her shock. "We need to

hide you." She hissed, gripping his hand tighter. His face hardened, and he said, "No,

what about you?" She fastened her hands on his shoulders securely, shooting him a

tiny smile. "Apparently I'm the older sister. It's you we're worried about."

"But what if these soldiers were at the barricade? What if they recognize you?"

Enjolras inquired frantically, terror washing over him as dreadful of images of her

lovely face bruised and beaten, sparkling eyes no longer glowing with their usual

brilliant light as she was dragged away flashing through his head. He snapped back

from this horrific hallucination as he felt her warm, smooth hands on his cheeks, and

looked up to see her smiling assuredly at him. Against his better judgment, it

instantly and reluctantly calmed him. "They never got close enough to recognize any

faces. The only thing that could be even close to detectable is my voice." she soothed,

thumbs running over his face, making him shiver in the tranquil gratification of the

motion. "And should they recognize your voice from the sound of your rallying

cries?" he asked reproachfully, reaching up quickly and gripping her hands with an

avidness that made both believe he'd never let go.

"I will not speak unless absolutely necessary, and softly then." She answered

simply, gently beginning to pull her hands away. But Enjolras would not let go. "No. I

can't let you take a risk like that." He said firmly, staring pleadingly at her. She

closed her eyes for a moment, then pulled her hands the rest of the way away from

his grasp. "And I can't take the risk of losing you. Come. We need to obscure you

from view." She stated finally. From the look in her eyes, he knew that she would not

be moved in her decision, and that there was no way he could argue her final

statement, so he pursed his lips and began to sit up. He tried to focus on Lynette's

waiting arms to keep his mind wandering to the aches erupting throughout his chest,

and it mostly worked… until he sat on the edge of the bed and realized he'd have to

_stand_. He sat hesitantly for a moment, evaluating the levels of his pains and whether

or not he thought they would worsen, but his thought process was interrupted by

her placid whisper; "Ready?"

"Quick, they're coming inside!" Angelika hissed from the doorway. Enjolras

turned back to Lynette and nodded grimly, then took a deep breath and slid himself

to the floor below. He was pleasantly surprised with the dull, diminutive ache he felt,

and eagerly straightened to stand fully. And that was his mistake; for the swiftness

of the action and the pressure on his settling wounds sent a shooting, excruciating

pain up his entire torso, like a thousand angry wasps zipping through his veins. He

let out a cry, unable to stop himself no matter how much his conscience screamed

otherwise, and went tumbling to the floor. For a moment he simply lay there,

whimpering like a child, eyes brimmed with burning tears that matched the

throbbing inside. But then he heard a faint, "_What was that_?" from somewhere in the

hall, and Lynette let a single sob escape her lips before slipping her hands under his

arms and dragging him to the chair in the corner. She pulled it out from the wall

silently, then pointed to the space behind it. "Quickly. It's not much, but it's all we

have now. Conceal yourself, Enjolras." she ordered, and he obediently crawled

behind the chair, watching with wide eyes as she pushed a basket forward to cover

the bit of him left revealed. Then she stood and pushed the chair back as far as it

would go, pressing him against the wall. Lynette looked down at her handiwork,

said a silent prayer hoping he was shrouded enough, then dashed over to the

bedside table, hastily smashing the porcelain teacup on the headboard and

spreading pieces on the floor. She hadn't even the time to stand back up when the

cracked door came swinging fully open, causing Angelika to shriek and jump back in

surprise. In barged two soldiers with Florence close behind, whose cold, darting

eyes flitted readily around the room before locking on her. The suspicion present in

their gaze was more than evident, and they barely breathed before snapping, "What

is going on in here?"

"We're sorry Mama. I came in to tell Lynette to brew the tea and startled her.

She dropped one of your teacups and screamed." Angelika explained, seemingly

innocent eyes widening like a pup's.

"Women's screams are high-pitched." The second man squinted menacingly

at the little girl, who shrank back, terrified.

"I cut myself on the broken pieces, so forgive me for _sobbing_, Monsieur."

Lynette snapped, glaring. The officers turned to look at her, and their eyebrows

arched slightly as they did, a strange look in their eyes. "Oh? Well, let's see this

injury of yours." The first man purred. Lynette cursed in her head, squeezing the

shards she still held in her hand, slicing the tender skin open. Enjolras heard her tiny,

nearly undetectable gasp, and cautiously peeked out, biting back a shuddering gasp

of his own as he saw the blood running down her hand. As Lynette brought her hand

forward into view, her injured hand just barely brushed her apron, and she took this

moment to slyly slip the cup pieces into her pocket. She did this with such precision,

such cunning, that it went completely unnoticed by the soldiers. She showed them

her fresh wound, throwing them a spiteful glare, and she thought she saw a blush

crawl onto the first man's cheeks. "Oh. Forgive us mademoiselle, we were instructed

to investigate all claims made." The second said, nodding once before looking back

up to stare at her. Lynette did not like the way both now were looking at her. Did

they really believe her stories?

"Well, as you can see Monsieurs, we have nothing to hide here. I can assure

you that if any of those filthy rebels came knocking on my door, they would be

immediately cast off and reported." Florence told them, the mock disgust in her

voice surprisingly strong and more than believable.

"That's good to hear, Madame. But we are unfortunately required to search

the entire house." The second soldier said, eyes never leaving Lynette. Both of the

undercover revolutionaries saw the almost hungry look in his eyes, and both their

hearts harmoniously began beating faster. _'He recognizes her.' _Enjolras groaned in

his mind, dread washing over him.

"That's quite alright, Monsieur. Why don't I get that tea I promised while you

search?" Florence offered, a polite smile on her face.

"That would be lovely, Madame. Much obliged." The first man said, tearing

his gaze away from Lynette only to bow his head to the mistress. Florence turned to

exit, and Angelika rushed to her side, but her mother stopped her. "No, no dear. You

stay here in case _Lynette_ or our guests need you." She said softly accentuating the

name she really worried about, smoothing her daughter's dark ringlets. The tiny

girl's eyes widened in fear, but she nodded slowly before turning and dashing to

Lynette's side. The officers let out a low, amused chuckle, but the sound was hollow

and cold, cracking as if not often exercised. Florence quickly scurried out of the

room, leaving the two girls and their unexpected visitors alone in the room. The

Desmarais "sisters" held their breath as the soldiers stepped into action, glancing

around once before bending down and looking beneath the bed. Lynette felt dizzy as

she watched them, more from fear of their finding Enjolras than from the blood

spilling from her cut. To her relief, as if God himself was answering her prayers, they

stood back up right after, ignoring the chair completely. "All clear." The first officer

stated, flashing Lynette a smile as they approached her in an eerie unison.

"As promised." She replied smoothly, returning their wide grins with a polite

half smile. She was surprised she could muster even that; she was boiling on the

inside. These two men could have very well have been of the very squadron that

murdered Les Amis. These two men could have very well been the personal killers

of Combeferre, Éponine, Gavroche…

These two men could even have been the ones to shoot Enjolras. And all she wanted

to do was rip their throats out.

She snapped back from her internal rage when she realized that the officers were

getting closer still; inching but an arm's length away now. She leaned back, not

daring to risk an inciting motion such as a backwards step, then said, "May I help

you, Monsieurs?" trying to keep her voice from shaking, ready to sprint out of the

room if she needed to.

"Just let us look at you, ma petite. That's help enough." The second soldier

winked, grin widening. It then all clicked together in Lynette's mind, and, soon after,

Enjolras's. These men were not staring at Lynette because they were attempting to

place the _familiarity _of her face, they were staring because they liked the look of it.

The second this realization reached Enjolras's thoughts, his entire body tensed in

anger. First they slaughter each and every one of his closest friends, now they try to

win favor with his Lynette?

"Oh." Was all Lynette could think of to say, looking down. She was appallingly

surprised to feel a rough finger tilt her chin back up, and she had to close her eyes to

hold back all of the reactions that wanted to come lashing out of her; a scream, a

strike, a snarl…

Enjolras saw the way the man touched her and nearly exposed his hiding place. He

had to restrain himself with all of his mighty self-control to keep from flying out

from behind the chair and knocking the bastards to the ground. He was quaking

with anger, and desperately hoped that the low growl he held in the back of his

throat would not escape.

"How old are you, belle?" the first man said, cocking his head as he looked her

up and down. She dropped her gaze again, though the second's finger stayed

steadfastly in place beneath her chin. "S—seventeen." She stammered, trying to calm

her pounding heart. She hoped she could pass for a teenager, for anything older than

that would be considered suspicious because of Madame Desmarais's own age.

"Aw, listen to that stammer! She's shy, Roland!" The second man laughed,

cooing with false empathy. Lynette watched in horror as the first officer, Roland,

walked over to the chair concealing Enjolras and sat down, staring back at her with

a brash grin. She bit the inside of her cheek as he leaned back, petrified that he

should notice something odd about the chair. "Well, why don't you come sit right

here, ma jolie, and we'll work on that inhibition?" the seated Roland grinned, patting

his knee. Lynette's eye widened in shocked disgust, though fear fluttered in her

chest as well.

Enjolras's arms were twitching in rage, so close to reaching up and wrapping his

hands around this revoltingly impetuous man's windpipe. How _dare _they make such

thwarting, suggestive comments in front of her? Unbelievable as it was, this was

beyond Lynette. How could any man walk into someone's home in an uninvited

invasion of privacy and talk so evocatively to the hostess's daughter? _Especially _

when she was obviously younger than they; yet they caressed her under her own

roof! They were beyond swine; they were an absolutely abhorrent, repugnant,

detestable display. And the fact that the subject of their atrocities was Lynette made

his fury reach a white-hot pinnacle.

Lynette was so filled with resulting antiphons that she thought she might burst. She

was mortified, furious, frightened; and because of this emotional influx, she could do

nothing but stand there, helpless, as she was teased. Longing with a burning passion

to lash out and maim the man with his hand so boldly resting beneath her chin;

scared out of her mind of what Enjolras might pay should she do so. So, she

remained frozen on the spot, mute as an animal as the soldiers continued on with

their philandering. "Yes… I think you should change your timid demeanor, ma petite."

The man in front of her murmured, still smiling, as he boldly reached up to stroke

her cheek with the back of his hand. Lynette gasped at his audaciousness, stepping

back. Angry as she was, she couldn't help but be struck with disbelief that he'd have

the impudent nerve to preform so intimate a movement. Enjolras was about to come

crashing out from behind the chair, thoughts of murder in his head, but was

suddenly stopped in his tracks by a shrill, "_Excuse me!_" Florence had returned,

Angelika peeking out from behind her, and was now glaring angrily, eyes flashing, at

the appalling officers. The second soldier dropped his hand immediately, and the

first, Roland, jumped up from the chair. "Inspect the rest of my house, do you? It

looks to me like you were inspecting the lovely mien of my daughter!" Florence

snapped. The men's smiles had disappeared, and now they just stared wide-eyed at

the mistress of the house. Florence marched right up to them, glaring up with a

hateful expression, and hissed, "I will personally make sure your captain is informed

of this disgusting behavior, and for now, you will leave my house or suffer the

consequences." The men nodded vigorously, dashing out of the room without

another word, and within the minute, they heard the front door slam. Angelika ran

over to Lynette, who opened her arms to the child, taking her into a tight embrace.

"Oh, bless you Angelika! Bless you, bless you, bless you!" Lynette exclaimed, holding

the child so tightly that she had trouble taking in an entire breath. "I didn't like those

men. They scared me." Angelika whispered, face buried in Lynette's dress.

"They scared me too. Thank you for getting your mama." Lynette said, voice

quavering dangerously. She then felt two warm hands on her shoulders, and she

snapped up to see Florence standing above her, eyes soft as she looked down at her.

"It's alright, dear, they're gone. I cannot even begin to express my outrage at their

horrendous conduct." Lynette's mind flashed to the gruff hand on her cheek, and her

eyes welled up. Her emotional surplus had finally reached the surface and there was

no holding it in any longer.

Enjolras realized he'd been sitting in shock for several minutes, only brought back

by Madame Desmarais saying, "horrendous conduct". He heard Lynette's choked cry,

and he immediately jumped up from his hiding place, a sound near a snarl escaped

his lips. His fury had reached a nearly blinding level, and it was more than past the

point of bursting forward. "I'll kill them. I'll _kill_ them!" he roared, ignoring the

unbearable, jabbing pain in his side as he walked towards the door. Abruptly, he was

hit with a flying force, and looked down to see Lynette clinging to him, sobbing

hysterically. He was surprised by her breakdown, but soon came to his senses and

wrapped his arms around her. He looked to Madame Desmarais, who was already

nodding solemnly and bustling herself and Angelika out of the room. As soon as

they'd left, he led Lynette over to the chair, sitting her down on his lap and enfolding

his arms protectively around her. She curled up against his chest like a toddler, her

burning tears that soaked into his bandaged skin feeling like acid. She was choking

and gasping and gulping down air as if she couldn't get enough of it; sobs so

wretched that her entire body shook with the strength of them. He began rubbing up

and down her arm, whispering, "It's alright, Netta. I'm here. I've got you. Hush now,

ma douce. You are safe." Her fingers clenched him even tighter, though before long

her shuddering gasps turned to deep sniffles, and it seemed her torrents of tears

were transforming into mere trickles. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top

of her head, and she exhaled as she felt his gentle touch. After a moment, she

sputtered, "I—I was… so… frightened! I—they—I just… didn't want them to… f—

find you… and I was… s—so angry! But… oh, how they t—t—touched me!" A whole

new set of sobs erupted from her lips at this statement, and Enjolras tightened his

embrace, glowering at the thought of those vipers. Suddenly it hit him that this was

the first time he had ever seen Lynette _really_ cry. She'd mourned the death of little

Gavroche, but even that crazed rage could not compare to the frenetic, absolutely

delirious convulsion of emotion she now displayed. She'd been through so much in

the past few days, especially that which she'd just experienced moments ago, and he

knew the buildup had gotten to the point where neither human nor god could even

attempt to hold it back. As he looked down at her trembling body, something inside

of him died; what had happened to the fearless, spirited, invincible woman who

seemed so untouchable? She was more than certainly still there; he could see that in

the way she'd stood her ground and avoided all suspicion. But these happenings had

battered her down, and now he was glimpsing a new side of her. A side that was soft,

caring, vulnerable, timid…

And so utterly perfect it rendered him breathless. When she was the spitfire of the

barricades; the fiery girl whose guard was always up and caustic comments never

ceased, it seemed that anything past a friendly partnership would never be realized.

She was fiercely independent, her only thoughts those of freedom. Much too

occupied for love, much too…

Like him.

The loss, tension, and horror had changed both of them, but had done so in a way

where some of their sovereign qualities were reduced just enough that they needed

each other. Something had changed them for the very reason of their ending up

together. Had Fate done all this so that they would become a complete, faultless

match? Had these devastating tragedies occurred so that an adoring, unbreakable

bond stronger than all else would form?

"_The fated will happen, and all for a reason…" _

"But now I'm here. They can't hurt you anymore." He said softly, gently

smoothing her hair in an act of assurance. She sniffed once, remaining silent, but

then whispered, "Say it again."

"What?" he inquired curiously, lifting his head to look at her.

"Ma douce." She said as her face flushed, though the pleading in her voice was

evident. She looked up and caught his eye, and he smiled down at her adoringly. "Ma

douce. Ma belle, forte, parfaite douce." He reiterated softly before pressing a kiss to

her forehead. A tiny smile crept onto her face, and she closed her eyes, exhaling

deeply. His soft, assuring tone comforted her immensely, his velvet-like voice

encasing her in his warm fortification. Not to mention how her heart skipped a beat

when he paid her such lovely compliments.

"You must have said that knowing you'd be rewarded for your

thoughtfulness." She suddenly teased, letting her bright, pearly smile break free.

"On the contrary; perhaps I'm just speaking my mind, stating pure fact, or

trying to give you a compliment you more than deserve." He retorted, chuckling.

"Oh, so you don't want your reward then? " she asked innocently, eyes

gleaming mischievously.

"Well, that would be _nice_…" he accentuated, smiling with a baited pleading.

"Oh, come here." She giggled before taking his face in her hands and pulling it

down to catch her lips. He put his hand on her cheek, and couldn't hold back a smile

as he kissed her. As her mouth moved with his, he could feel it too stretching into a

grin. After a few minutes, he stopped, saying, "Perhaps I'll compliment you more

often."

"It only counts if you mean it." She told him, waggling a finger.

"When could I not? You're infallible." He breathed, then leaned in and caught

her lips again. She kissed him back, then broke away and nuzzled her face into the

crook of his neck, and his heart exploded into a fluttering speed as her felt her lips

gently graze the tender skin for a few moments. "I just… didn't like their hollow-

sounding accolades." She whispered sheepishly, attempting to hide her face from

him. Her distress made him sorrowful and livid at the same time, and he quickly

adjusted his position so that it was nearly impossible for her to conceal herself from

him, tipping her cheek so that she faced him. "Lynette…" he began, but her dazzling

eyes remained downcast. "Netta, please…" he entreated, and she looked up forlornly.

"I promise, as long as I'm here, no one will _ever_ talk to you like that again.

Everything I say is and always will be the exact, whole truth; you must know that by

now." She smiled broadly, eyes welling up, and mouthed, "_Thank you_." Before

snaking her arms around his waist and pulling herself to him, and he tightened his

arms around her. "I love you." He whispered into her ear. She looked up and smiled

at him. "I love you too." She replied tenderly. Then she hooked her arms around his

neck and began pulling herself up to level her face with his, and the sudden pressure

made him hiss through his teeth, wound throbbing. She dropped her arms

immediately. "What's wrong?" she asked worriedly. He had not the time to answer

before she gasped, "Oh my God! You fell, didn't you?"

"Really, I'm fi—" he began, but couldn't finish before she called, "Florence?

Florence!" and scrambled off his lap. He chuckled quietly to himself as he watched

her glide towards the door, peeking around just as Madame Desmarais came

plodding into the room. "Yes? What is it, dear?" she asked Lynette, eyes

automatically flitting to Enjolras.

"He fell when he got up to stand." Lynette explained simply.

"Ah, yes. It was a bit soon to try to walk, but I guess you only did what was

absolutely necessary." Florence said thoughtfully, looking him up and down.

"Please, ladies. I'm fine, I really am. Barely felt a thing." He declared. Madame

Desmarais snorted. "And that's why that yell sounded like it came straight from a

torture chamber?" He sighed. Obviously, there was going to be no underplaying the

discomfort with these two around. L'Madame took his exhalation as a victory, and

wasted not a minute more before dropping to her knees and beginning to unwrap

the bandages. It was silent for a moment, but then she suddenly said, "You know, it

seems like I've only seen you awake when disaster strikes." Enjolras laughed

heartily despite the aching, replying, "I suppose that's true. I don't think we've even

been formally introduced." The woman smiled and stuck out her hand. "I'm Madame

Desmarais, but you may call me Florence."

"Enjolras." he replied, shaking her hand. Then Florence turned to her

daughter, whispering something in her ear. The child stepped forward with her

deep, midnight eyes, and verbalized, "And I am Angelika."

"Yes, I know. We have spoken before, haven't we, little one?"

"Yes Monsieur Enjolras."

"Oh?" Florence uttered, eyebrows raised. "When was this?"

"This morning, Mama. When I brought him his tea." The girl replied smoothly,

gaze remaining locked on the man whose secret she was keeping. Enjolras was

utterly shocked at how easily this tiny, blameless child could fib so well. Apparently

she wasn't as naïve as she looked.

"Oh! Well, that's good. Less time wasted in introductions." Florence chuckled,

turning back to her work. As the wound came into view, Enjolras had to wince and

look away, not really having had a good look at it until now. He knew from what Joly

had told him about bullet wounds that the skin often had to be cut open and

restitched afterwards in order to safely extract the bullet, but the way that this

procedure had worsened the look of the injury made his stomach churn. There was

some fresh blood; expected, after the pressure he'd put on it, and at this point he

was simply relieved that it looked worse than it felt. But unfortunately, that was

quite a statement, because he felt dreadful.

"Good, no broken stitches this time. Just a little more than the wound could

handle. I actually don't need to do anything but clean it up a bit. Angelika, a wet cloth

please?" Florence requested, and the little girl ducked out of the room. It was silent

for a moment, but then Enjolras decided to take advantage of this moment to thank

Florence. "Madame, I'd like to thank you for taking us into your home and caring for

me so diligently. If you had not, I doubt I would be here right now." He said gravely.

"No trouble at all, dear. I'm happy to help such brave people." She replied,

smiling. Enjolras froze. "Wh—what?"

"It's alright, Enjolras. She knows." Lynette whispered, placing her hand on his

shoulder. He looked up at her, bewildered, then back to Florence. "You know where

we came from? You know what we fought for?"

"Of course. Everyone does."

Enjolras looked down, breathe quickening. They had known? They had known all

along and had still abandoned them? "You knew? You knew what it was we were

trying to do… and yet no one came to help us in our endeavors?" he whispered,

anger bubbling inside him as he stared up at Florence in disbelief.

"Enjolras…" Lynette began warningly, but he ignored her.

"You and those around you _knew,_ and left us to die anyway? You ignored our

cries for help as we fought for _your_ freedom?" he exclaimed, sitting up angrily.

"Please Monsieur, I assure you—"

"Do you have any idea how many great men were lost? How many are cold

and dead because of your fear?" he spat, enraged.

"Enjolras!" Lynette yelled, glaring down at him. He was shocked enough by

the sharpness in her voice to silence himself. The second she'd gotten his attention,

she turned away from him, saying to Florence, "Forgive him, Florence. The loss of

his friends has been hard on him."

"It's alright, dear. I understand. He's right, though. We should have come to

your aid." She whispered in reply, looking down.

"Please know it's not you personally; just the overall population. He's just

having a difficult time." Lynette said quietly in return. Just then, Angelika returned,

dashing through the door. "Mama, mama! I brought some poppy too, for his pain!"

she exclaimed excitedly, pulling out the flower. Florence put on a smile and turned

to her daughter, obviously trying to make it seem like nothing out of the ordinary

had just happened. "Wonderful darling, I can't believe you remembered! Mama is so

proud of you!" she enthused, picking up her six-year-old and planting a kiss on her

cheek. The child giggled, scrunching up her face in delight, then opened her eyes

again and handed her mother the poppy. "Right then. I'll leave you two alone; I must

brew up a little pain killer for you, Monsieur." Florence smiled warmly at Enjolras

before turning and leaving the room. Lynette turned back to Enjolras, who was in

the process of snaking his fingers into his hair. "Sweet Jesus, what's wrong with me?

My outburst could have gotten us cast out of the house!" he cursed himself.

"I told you she was very understanding. And I'm very grateful for that."

Lynette said with a small smile. Enjolras looked her in the eyes, his expression

morose. "I'm sorry, Netta. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"More than understandable. You just lost a group of your closest friends. You

have every right to be upset." She assured.

"I just… they're all gone." He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Except for me."

"Well that's true. That's something I should be more than grateful for." He

smiled weakly.

"And there is another thing as well." She said casually, taking his hand and

tracing the creases in his palm with her finger.

"And what might that be?" He asked after taking a deep breath at her touch.

"That the worst is over. I think, cher, that we can finally rest assured. That we

are finally safe." She whispered, sitting down on his knee. He reached out and

wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer and smiling fully at her. "Yes,

I certainly hope so." Then he leaned forward and kissed her, smiling as her arms

wrapped around his neck and pulled herself to him. '_If this is my new life, _he thought,

'_then yes, the worst is over… and the best has begun.' _

**A/N- Please read through to end! : ****Phew! That was a close one! Flirty officers and kicka** Madame Desmarais? My, what will this author think of next? And don't you just love how I can't write an intense chapter for the life of me without finishing it off with fluffidy-fluffidy fluufffff? XD Including Enjolras going into a protective rage over Miss Netta. Can I have a show of hands from everyone who wishes that was them? *waves hand in the air WILDLY* **

**I just love writing these two. Have I said that before? Well, too bad. I'm going to say it again and again and again. XD **

**But… the end is near, dearies. Like; the-next-chapter's-the-epilogue-which-may-not-even-be-able-to-be-split-into-two-chapters near. I think I'm going to cry; I just love this story so much! **

**But it doesn't **_**have**_** to be that way, my pretties… this author has been brewing up those "epilogue for the epilogue" deleted scenes I was telling you about. ;) The tale of Lynette and Enjolras continues… more craziness ensues… you know you want them… they're calling to you… **

**If you hear the people sing, singing the songs of Deleted Scenes; shoot me a private message telling me which would be easier—to start fresh with each of them so that they're all separate stories on my profile, or to just keep adding them as chapters to this one. Much obliged! :D**

**R you guys are the best readers an author could have! ~DonJuana**


	21. Chapter 21

**Quick A/N: ****I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Miss EponineJondretteGirl—** **m'dear****, c'est ****à cause de gens****comme vous—****des gens****qui font confiance****, le soutien, l'accepter, ****et ont toujours****une sorte****de mot****—****que j'écris****. ****Merci de parler****avec moi, je****vous souhaite à tous****la joie****dans le monde avec votre dilemme et avec rien d'autre****, ****et****Allez****Les Amis****!**

_Epilogue_

_Two Months Later…_

"Are you sure you want to try this again? There's no rush, Enjolras; healing takes time." Lynette said anxiously, biting her lip.

"I'm sure. I can't stay in this bed a minute longer; I'll go mad!" Enjolras replied, laughing. Lynette smiled, but he could see the concern still present in her eyes. He smiled assuredly at her, and began to sit up. He was pleased to feel that what had been a sharp, stabbing pain but weeks before was now only the dull hum of a throb, and, with Lynette's help, he was sitting upright on the edge of the bed in no time. For a moment he just sat there, looking down at his feet and at Lynette's small hands hovering nervously in front of him. "If anything hurts, just sit back down, alright?" she instructed, and he nodded. He took a deep breath, then placed his feet on the floor and stood upright. They both held their breath, waiting for the pain to overtake him, but nothing came. Lynette cracked her eyes open, and saw him looking at her, an expression consisting of triumph, amazement, and joy on his face. She gasped and beamed at him, then suddenly he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her in the air, causing her to shriek and giggle like a child. He spun her around once and she wrapped her arms around his neck, then he put her down and embraced her tightly. "Feeling alright?" she asked, still laughing, as soon as her feet were touching the floor again.

"If I hadn't been, would I've been able to do that?" he chuckled, looking down at her euphorically.

"I suppose not." She laughed in reply. He was quiet for a moment, but as he looked around, was hit with the reality of the situation, the dreamlike state he'd been in for so long finally lifting. "I'm walking." He whispered.

"Not yet you're not." She winked, stepping away from him. He took a single, cautionary step forward, the quickly continued toward her until he could wrap his arms around her waist again, pulling her to him. "There." He teased simply.

"Don't sass me, Blondinette." She warned him with an amused glance. He chuckled, then leaned down and kissed her, waiting until she was smiling to pull away. There was another silence between them, but then Lynette's face sombered, and she said, "Well now that we know you can walk, do you still want to go?" He frowned seriously, nodding gravely. "Of course. Now that I'm strong enough, it's about time we went to reminisce and honor." She nodded in solemn agreement. "Indeed. Alright, well if you're sure…"

"I'm sure." He affirmed. She nodded once more, then silently slid her arm through his and together they walked out the door of the bedroom. Enjolras had barely been out of the guest bedroom during his entire stay, and couldn't help looking about at the neat, quaint little house before him. He imagined the last time he'd been this far down the hall, he'd been unconscious and nearly dead from blood loss and infection…

No. If he was to get through this, he would have to block out the ghastly memories he'd acquired but two months before. He continued walking, trying to think of nothing but the sun's warm rays flooding in through the big window above the doorway, the complimentary, intricate pattern of the Desmarais's fine carpet, and Lynette's arm entwined with his own; her long, slender fingers delicately clutching his arm. The simple, mediocre focuses diverted his attentions well, calming him and helping him to evade thoughts of the barricade's final stand.

But they were leaving the comfort and blameless reach of the home in a matter of minutes, so he knew that the memories would come prowling like tigers as soon as familiarity and recognition set in. All he could hope for now is that paying his final respects would put these ghosts to rest once and for all, so that a new life could begin.

"Florence! We're going to step out for a while!" Lynette called. The mistress of the house appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes wide. "Both of you?" she inquired, bewildered and surprised.

"Yes. He's up and walking, and has a long overdue visit that needs to be paid." She responded casually, patting his arm and smiling once at him.

"Oh! Alright then! Congratulations on being up and about, Enjolras!" Florence replied, beaming at them.

"Thank you, Madame. I don't think I need to say that I wouldn't be at this point by now were it not for you." Enjolras replied, nodding graciously with a smile.

"You're right; you don't. Off with you now, you could use the fresh air!" Florence shooed them good-naturedly. They were just about to head out when a little blur flew by her mother, rushing down the stairs. "Wait!" she cried, skidding to a stop in front of the former revolutionaries.

"Good morning, Angelika." Lynette greeted the little girl. Angelika smiled shyly, then produced a bundle from behind her back. "It is very cold today. I was out playing in the garden, and had to return inside for my coat!" she explained as Lynette reached down and took the coats from her.

"Thank you, little one. We'll be sure to wear them." Enjolras smiled at her.

"_Another_ chilly day, Angie? My, I've never _known _such a cool mid-August!" Florence exclaimed, shaking her head. But then she snapped back into focus, beckoning to her daughter. "Now come along, dearest. We must complete our lessons."

"But mama!" Angelika whined, though she was already obediently trudging back up the steps.

"No but's! Go get your books." Florence requisitioned, following her child into one of the upstairs rooms. Lynette and Enjolras chuckled simultaneously, and Lynette handed him one of the borrowed coats. Once they were both fully swathed, she turned to face him, adjusting his collar. "Ready?" she asked in hushed tones, giving him a half smile.

"Yes. Are you?" he replied. She nodded, and they turned to the door. It swung open, and Enjolras's eyes were flooded with light, the cool air hitting him like a gentle breath. He inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh bite of the air, so different and foreign when paired with the warm, borderline stuffiness of the cozy house. As he adjusted to the sudden change in atmosphere, he looked around him, drinking in the sights whose intimate informality had been dulled by the long respite in Madame Desmarais's home. The cobblestone streets, the blue sky above, the middle-class citizens scurrying about. As they got further from the house, his assumptions proved correct; the more familiar recollection, the more uneasy he grew. There were the beggars, the lowly people of Paris; the men without jobs or hope, the women looking for a few easy francs to feed themselves, the children, sullen and weak with hunger. There they knelt, there they wallowed, just as he had left them. '_Nothing changes,' _He thought in sorrowful disgust, '_nothing ever will'. _His face must've advertised a silent, brooding message, because Lynette stopped for a moment, gazing up at him. "Are you doing alright?" she queried. He nodded, managing to tear his eyes away from the people once so close to being emancipated to look at her. "Just fine. Let's keep going." He saw her scanning his face, obviously looking for truth in his words, but if she found the dejection looking there, she said nothing. They continued on in silence, no conversation passed between them. It was some sort of unspoken agreement; today was a day of commemoration, not idle chatter.

Enjolras could feel his heart quickening as they got closer to their destination. There was the park, then the petite bakery, then the leather shop…

And then, as they turned onto the street he'd strode down so many times before in every mood imaginable; rage, irritation, exhilaration, and even just serene happiness, he saw l'Café ABC.

As they drew closer to the old student rendezvous, Enjolras took a few deep breaths. The barricade was gone, wiped away by the hands of their enemies just like his comrades' blood had been. It looked so peaceful… so as it _normally_ would have… he was half expecting Grantaire to come staggering down the street, drunk as always, Combeferre to be sitting in the window, or Courfeyrac to be sauntering right out front, trying to woo a passing lady. A lump formed in his throat as he pictured them, their faces just as he remembered them, saying, "Enjolras! Come join us!"

_Why haven't I? Why do I deserve any better fate than they?_

But he'd gone over this. Lynette. Lynette was what he was here for. He looked over to her then, and saw that she had the same far out look in her eyes. "I can see them too." He whispered, voice breaking slightly. She nodded, biting her lip, glittering eyes fighting back tears. For a moment they just stood there, staring at the place that the children of the barricade had been born, but then Lynette said, "Do you… do you still want to go inside?" He stopped for a moment and thought about it, hesitating ever so slightly. Could he really bear to look at the place he'd once spent every free hour in with his late friends? See it in all of its emptiness?

"Yes." He responded quietly. "Yes, I do."

She inhaled deeply, squeezing his arm tighter. "Alright. Let's go."

They continued forward, walking back into the Café's open, welcoming arms. Yes, even with the dark cloud of sorrow hanging overhead, it was still welcoming them back. They were within five feet of the door when, suddenly, something put itself between them and the entrance. They looked down confusedly to see a tiny, blonde haired woman standing before them. Her eyes were a lovely shade of blue, and were big and wide like a fawn's, and her lips parted into a small, polite smile as she stared back at them. "Excuse me," she began, bowing her head slightly in greeting, "my fiancé is paying tribute to some dearly departed companions. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?"

No sooner had the words reached his ears did Enjolras feel his mind go blank, jaw dropping open. If this girl's fiancé was mourning _here_… that meant…

One of his friends was inside. One of them was _alive_. He whipped his head sideways, and saw that Lynette had done the very same, complete shock written all over her face. Someone had survived? Someone had escaped the doom that had so appallingly descended upon the others?

"Are you… are you well, sir?" the woman asked, brows knitting together in confused concern. Enjolras couldn't respond. All he could think about, all he could process, was that one of his closest friends in the world was living and breathing, standing right inside of their old tryst. He gently passed the woman, faintly hearing her surprised protests and Lynette's assurances. He pushed open the doors and saw a man standing in the center of the café, back to him. And from all the time they'd spent together, planning or even just talking, he knew exactly who it was just as easily as if he'd been facing him.

"Marius?" he whispered.

And with that, his old friend turned to look at him, and his eyes widened in shock. "E—Enjolras?" he murmured, staring back at him. But abruptly the boy's hands flew to his face, and he groaned. "Oh, will the phantoms ever leave me? How lifelike they are!" Enjolras nearly laughed. He thought him to be a spirit? A dream figure? Then again, how could he blame him?

"Marius, it's me. Enjolras. I'm here!" he exclaimed, gesturing to himself and the surrounding tavern. For a moment, Marius just stared at him as if in a trance, cocking his head to the side, face blank apart from a slight hint of bewilderment. Enjolras snorted, then began to walk toward the boy, placing his hand on his shoulder. And with that, it as like someone had flipped a switch, causing a light to flicker to life. It struck a chord, and something near awed wonder shone in Marius's eyes. Enjolras?" he whispered once more. Enjolras smiled and nodded, then embraced his friend, clapping his back. "I can't believe… how did you…" Marius stammered, pulling back and smiling ecstatically.

"Lynette… she dragged me away after I'd been shot. She and…" he started to explain, but abruptly he saw Lynette slowly shaking her head out of the corner of his eye. He as confused for a moment, but quickly recovered, realizing he as not to say whom her mysterious assistant was. He didn't understand why, but obviously Lynette had seen or known something more than he, so he quickly recovered himself. "Lynette found us a safe place to stay among medically trained people." He told Marius, glancing away only once as Lynette and the other woman began walking toward them from their post in the door. "Amazing, my friend. It seems luck was on both of our sides' that day." Marius breathed. Enjolras was about to respond accordingly when a high, childish voice said, "Marius, dear? Do you know these people?"

"Yes! My dear, exquisite Cosette; these are some of my fellow revolutionaries! Friends who stood beside me at the barricade!" Marius exclaimed jovially, taking the woman's hands and smiling wildly. _'Ah…' _both Lynette and Enjolras thought, '_so this is the famed Cosette.' _The tiny woman's eyes widened even more than their natural state, and she emitted a small gasp. "Really? But I thought you said you were the only one to survive!" she stated in disbelief.

"And I though they had! But no, my love, they're here!" Marius cried excitedly, pulling her closer. Cosette squeezed his hands and beamed at him, then turned to the café's two other occupants. "It's so wonderful that I actually get to meet you. My name is Cosette. Marius speaks of you and your bravery so often!" the small blonde enthused, a bright smile bursting forth like a joyous ray of sunshine. Lynette realized how easily Marius could have forgotten about Éponine, poor soul, in comparison; the girl was stunning, spotless, and glowing with health.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle. My name is Enjolras, and this is Lynette. Marius spoke of you often as well." Enjolras grinned, taking the easy opportunity to tease his lovesick friend, just like the old times. Marius's smile wavered slightly, pleading them warningly with his eyes.

"Did he now?" Cosette smiled amusedly, catching on.

"Oh yes, every day! It seemed every other breath was something about you!" Enjolras continued, and Lynette stepped forward. "I second that claim. Come now late in arrival, don't I get a hello?" she asked innocently. Marius had suddenly found the floor quite fascinating, but he looked up at her words. "Good to see you again, Lynette."

"Same to you Marius." She chuckled, stepping forward and embracing him. two people in the room tensed; for though they knew the action was completely innocent, they could not restrain the instinctive jealousy. As soon as she'd stepped away, Enjolras asked what had been presently hovering in the back of his mind since he heard that his friend lived. "Marius, how did _you _survive?" he asked curiously. He was surprised to see the younger man shrug. "I'm not entirely sure. One second I'm falling off the side of the barricade, the next I'm staring up at the face of my love." Marius explained, eyes softening as he looked to Cosette. She linked her arm with his, then continued, "There was a knock in the middle of the night, but when I went to open the door, my Marius, bleeding and unconscious, was the only one there." Neither Lynette nor Enjolras said a word after the young couple had finished their tale, because both knew exactly who had brought Marius home. The question they both pondered was, _Why does he hide from his own family? _

Lynette was even more confused than her partner, considering she knew even more about l'Monsieur's mysterious ways. He had known the Desmarais's in another time, but refused to let them discuss it. He had used a false name. And now he had saved Marius, but would not let his good deed be brought into the light. "_He's a funny man, that Monsieur Madeline." _Florence had said. '_More than funny,'_ she thought silently, '_What is he running from?' _

"But I suppose my savior's identity matters little now that we are all here together." Marius smiled, opening up his arms in an amiable gesture to the group. "Well, not all of us." Lynette whispered, releasing the eminent thought that had consumed all those who'd fought on that fatal night and lived. A heavy silence settled on their shoulders and lowered their heads, and barely a breath was heard. All felt the surreal presence of the spirits of the fallen; knew that they were not alone in the familiar, regular meeting place. The silence remained with them for several minutes that felt like an eternity, but then Marius whispered, "There's a grief that… cannot even be spoken." The others, even Cosette, nodded subconsciously in agreement.

"It's been paining me for weeks now." Enjolras continued in hushed tones.

"I'm finding it hard to look at these very chairs they sat in… empty." Lynette added quietly. Another chorus of nods.

"It's like… it's like I can still see them… still hear them." Marius murmured, eyes grazing over the room around him.

"I completely agree." Enjolras agreed solemnly. After one last moment of silence, Lynette suddenly rang out, "You did not die in vain, my friends! You let your courage shine forth, and they saw! They trembled!" Though her cries were uttered for no one visible, none of the others questioned her stability. She was simply delivering her final discourse to her deceased amis, letting them know they would not be forgotten. It was something they'd all needed to do, but Lynette had taken the deepest thoughts right from their heads, wording them perfectly and leaving nothing more to be said. The weaver of words at her post once more.

When she had finished, there was another quiet moment, but Enjolras had one last thing to add before his mind could be at rest. "You will be immensely missed." He whispered, and the others nodded, then bowed their heads in reverence.

"Why does my conscience still burden me with guilt?" Marius quavered after a minute.

"We cannot ask ourselves why we live when they are gone, we must just know that there is indeed a reason." Lynette assured, putting her hand on the boy's shoulder. Her gaze flickered over to Enjolras for but a moment when she spoke of reasons, and he had to bite back a content smile, as it was not appropriate for the place or time.

Marius nodded, face relaxing slightly. "Alright, I know. I'm here for Cosette, and that's all that matters." A tiny smile broke free of the young man's sorrowful guise, and Cosette mimicked it, stepping forward and pecking his cheek.

"Exactly. We have a new purpose now." Enjolras said softly, catching Lynette's eye and holding it there. Cosette saw it first, glancing back and forth between the two. "Oh. _Oh…_ How lovely!" she squealed, beaming at them. Both Lynette and Enjolras blushed, breaking their deep gaze.

"What?" Marius said quizzically, looking confusedly at his fiancé. She giggled merrily, hitting her intended lightly on the arm. "Are you completely blind?" she asked jokingly. Marius blushed, looking down for a moment. "I just don't understand; what's lovely?" he questioned, naivety sending his love into a fit of child-like giggles.

'_It isn't the first time he's been so clueless…' _Lynette couldn't help thinking, Éponine's pained smile materializing in her mind. But Enjolras was too busy praying Cosette would leave the subject on that note, knowing that if Marius was told, he was about to get his for all the teasing.

"Your dear friends here are in love!" Cosette exclaimed, as if ignoring Enjolras's unspoken pleas. But no cockiness or mischief crept onto Marius's features; the poor boy just looked shocked. "What? No, but they… they clashed like a firing squad! They bickered and taunted each other ceaselessly! My dear, you must be mistaken. Forgive her, Enj—"

"Oh Marius, when will you learn that things aren't always what they seem? That love grows in the most peculiar of places?" Cosette sighed languorously. Marius turned to Enjolras, eyes wide. "Is it… is it true?" he asked in disbelief.

"Well—"

"Of course it is! Just look at him, see the tenderness in his eyes, the blissful similarity to the way you look at me!" she said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Marius gently kissed her forehead, then turned back to his fellow comrades. "So it is true then? The fearless, fervent, unyielding Enjolras has fallen in love with a _real_ woman?" he smiled impishly, the tomfoolery slinking forth. Enjolras huffed, cheeks burning.

"Indeed. Unlikely as it sounds, I have." He replied gruffly. Lynette and Marius both bit back laughs at his sulking tone, and Lynette stepped forward, taking his hand securely. Marius winked at him, saying, "You understand what I was trying to tell you _now_? How you just know? I daresay you knew Lynette for a shorter period than I did Cosette…" he trailed off, eyes shining with laughter. Enjolras glared at him, pride swelling at his caustically playful comments. Lynette saw his tense demeanor and squeezed his hand, smiling softly when he turned to look at her. It was a small action, but it helped him. He calmed down… a bit.

"Oh, come now Enjolras, I'm only teasing! It's hardly fair; you humiliate me in front of my fiancé, yet when my turn comes to make you flush you glare at me as if I'd slapped you!" Marius chortled, mock-irritation coating his tone.

"That's because things have been federally officiated between you two. Lynette could still leave me should she feel the urge to." Enjolras retorted, laughing, though it was true the thought had crossed his mind. He was almost entirely certain that what he feared was outrageous, yet he couldn't help fearing. He was only human.

"And when did_ you_ begin caring about anything federal?" Marius boomed with laughter, then turned to Lynette. "Run, Lynette. Run while you still can, lest you life be condemned to one trapped beneath his mountains of books!" The group laughed genially, Lynette leaning against Enjolras's shoulder. "And I couldn't think of anything better. Much obliged, Marius; but I have a real catch here. He won't get away from me so easily." She laughed.

"Well alright then, suit yourself. But do I have some interesting stories to tell you…" Marius replied, entertained eyes flickering to Enjolras in a silent challenge.

"And what _do_ you mean by that, Monsieur?" Lynette giggled, though she made sure her arm remained firmly entwined with Enjolras's as an assurance that this was all in good fun.

"Well for starters, your révolutionnaire has done some peculiar things while drunk…" Marius began, and the lethal look he received in return only added to his amusement. Lynette laughed, clear and bird-like. "I'd love to hear some of them later on." She told him, winking.

"Why later on? We have time…" Marius continued humorously, but Enjolras cut him off before these humiliating stories could surface. "Careful, my friend; one word more and you may find yourself facedown on the floorboards."

"And what if I managed to fight you off?" Marius taunted good-naturedly. Enjolras simply snorted and raised an eyebrow in return. "Well… long enough to reveal one of these comical tales, at least?" Marius corrected with a laugh, knowing that his lean, boyish structure never had stood a chance against Enjolras's muscular build.

"Do you really want to take that chance? Because you know I'll do anything to protect my pride." Enjolras cautioned him, raising his eyebrows.

"And Lynette's innocent ears, apparently." Marius teased cheekily.

"Good God Marius, you've gotten as bad as Grantaire!" Enjolras exclaimed, booming with laughter. He was past his edgy worry; he knew that Marius was really only having fun and was too honorable and loyal to his friends to reveal anything which would cause them discomfort.

"So it would seem. Which reminds me of that one bet he made you a while back…"

"Marius!"

"You're no fun at all, you know that? Monsieur Livres et Riguer." Marius pretended to scowl, though he couldn't keep his puckered guise on for long. Their women had watched this little banter go on, and shook their heads, smiling. Then Lynette turned to Cosette, an amused glint in her eye. "Congratulations on the engagement, by the way." She nodded to the petite blonde.

"Why thank you, Miss Lynette! I'm happy as a lark!" Cosette chirped in reply, beaming.

"Tell me, Cosette; are you planning on starting a family with Marius?" Lynette asked, and Cosette could tell by the mischievous expression on her face that she was not just trying to make casual conversation. So, she played along, chuckling, "I was certainly hoping so. Why do you ask?"

"I think you may want to wait a while first." Lynette continued, hinting her with a single, twinkling glance.

"Because I need to be sure to raise my husband first?" Cosette guessed, catching on immediately. The girls burst into a fit of giggles, during which Marius caught Cosette by surprise, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him. "Raise your husband? Since when does _my_ Cosette make such sharp, witty comments?" he asked her, smiling.

"Since you and your studious friend here began squabbling like children." She fired back, grinning sassily. He spun them both around once, causing her to shriek in delight. "There's another one! My, who are you, and what have you done with my shy, soft-spoken Cosette?" the boy teased her.

"Oh, you don't like this new side of me?" she asked innocently, widening her eyes.

"Quite the contrary, my dear; it's simply different. But I love this new free-lanced spirit…" Marius grinned down at her, but Enjolras intervened. "Well, we actually must be going. But I cannot even express what a joy it was to see you alive and well, Marius." He told them, subconsciously wrapping his arm around Lynette's waist. He had one more thing he needed to do now that he was up and about, and he was sure that if he stayed much longer, he would forget all about it. Or worse; try to talk himself out of it.

"So soon? But we've only just found each other again!" Marius said, looking up at his friend in disappointment.

"Yes Enjolras, I'm sure we can afford to stay a few more minutes." Lynette agreed. She and he had been more than happy together for the past few months as he recovered, but she knew that she could never give him the brotherly bond he'd shared with the other men of the barricades. She would often walk into his room to see him wincing and grimacing in his sleep; the irrational guilt he felt for his friends' deaths obviously haunting him even in the serene state. Seeing him so cheerfully ragging with another who'd survived was like a cool, relieving drink of water; it had helped him let go.

"No, we really must be heading out. But we should certainly meet up in the next few days; we'd love to hear the details of your wedding." Enjolras responded, smiling politely.

"Oh yes, of course! You're welcome anytime; 55 Rue Plumet!" Cosette explained warmly.

"Much obliged, Cosette. We'll be sure to visit soon." Lynette returned her grin, nodding towards the lovebirds.

"Oh, please do! I'm sure my father would love to meet you as well!" Cosette enthused, taking Lynette's hands, glancing back and forth between her and Enjolras.

"That is very kind. We look forward to making his acquaintance as well." Lynette replied smoothly, not even missing a beat at the mention of the strange old man. Enjolras turned to shake hands with Marius. "Goodbye, my friend. I hate to leave so abruptly, but I have a bit more business to attend to." He repeated seriously, shooting the younger man a small smile. Marius nodded in return. "Ah. I think… just maybe… I know what that business may be. No worries; this is your first time standing in a few months, I could hardly expect _you_ to engage in idle chatter when there's so much to be done." He joked, nudging his stubborn friend. Enjolras chuckled. "Glad we've reached an understanding. Come now, Lynette." Lynette said a final farewell to Cosette, then re-linked arms with her resilient companion. They turned and walked to the door, then exited the old, reliable café. "So, did you accomplish what it was you came here for?" Lynette asked him as soon as they were outside.

"Yes. I think I can finally relax… not to mention finding out that not _everyone_ was killed that day." he replied, smiling down at her.

"Yes, that was a lovely surprise. Cosette is such a sweet little thing; I think they'll be very happy together." Lynette commented in return.

"Indeed…" he responded, but his mind was elsewhere. He had one last place to visit before they returned to l'Desmarais's, but he had something specific to accomplish there. And his thoughts had snapped into the mode he'd been in all during the early stages of he revolution; planning it down to the very last detail.

"So where is it you so desperately needed to go, Blondinette?" Lynette teased, looking up at him curiously.

"I just have one last stop to make, is that alright with you?" he asked her.

"Of course it is. But where?" she pressed.

"My old apartment." He answered simply, not wanting to explain it much farther. She nodded. "Alright. It will be nice to see where you lived." She said sweetly, and he grinned at her before looking ahead again. Before long they stood before it; the large building he'd once called home. It was here where his ideas for the revolution had bloomed, here where he first began scribbling out stratagems. Here where he spent many nights tirelessly perfecting their plans, here where he anxiously awaited the day that he could finally put them into action, liberating those left in darkness. And now, it was here where he would finally receive his new beginning.

They entered the building and slowly worked their way up to his flat, where they hesitated for a moment before the plain, wooden door. "Ready?" Lynette asked, smiling encouragingly at him. He looked at her and his heart rate sped up, but he simply nodded and put his key in the lock, knowing that there was no turning back now. He had to go through with this. He took a deep breath, then let the door swing open. They stepped inside, and he immediately saw that everything was just as he'd left it. It was almost… eerie. It looked just as it had when he'd left on that deathly dawn. He'd almost expected it to lie in ruins; after such a horrific massacre, how could it stay the same?

He also thought that the soldiers may have stopped by looking for him and ransacked the place, but no; everything lay in neat order as it always had. He was almost angry for a moment; this proved that his heartless opponents had known absolutely nothing about him; not his name or occupation, or where he dwelled. All they'd cared about was sending bullets tearing through him, all because he'd expressed an opinion which seemed to be nothing but hard-core truth to everyone but them. But he quickly calmed himself, knowing that was not why he had come. Hearts could not just miraculously grow inside a person so long without one, and therefore it was inevitable that those men would never change.

He walked over to his desk, smirking as he looked down at a thesis he'd started writing; buried and forgotten once the planning for his precious rebellion had begun. Then he turned to the neatly made bed, glanced over to the close and the small hearth with the little dining table beside it; ran his fingers over the spines of his vast bookshelf, just reminiscing. Wondering how life could go on so simply as if nothing had ever happened right after an event that should have gone down in history.

"It's a lovely flat. Very welcoming and cozy." Lynette piped up, and he turned to look at her. She was leaning up against the closed bathroom door, the sun flooding in through the window making her radiant face glow. It brought him back to earth, and his heart pumped faster as he remembered why he'd come. "Yes, and it's a great convenience price-wise as well. My father assisted me in purchasing it, so other than a few annual expenses, there's no rent." He blurted the explanation, cursing his petty anxiety. He'd commented to nervously dodge the things he should have said, and he knew it. Good God, why must he lose his way with words _now_?

"Well, that's always helpful. It really is a nice flat; you're lucky to have it." She smiled at him. There. That was his perfect doorway of opportunity, and he'd be damned if he allowed fear to slam it in his face.

"But it does get rather lonely."

Lynette's brows arched slightly. "Really? It's—"

"But it doesn't have to stay that way." He whispered, cutting her off as he forced his eyes to remain locked with hers. Now the shock fully overtook her face. "Wh—What?" she stammered. He walked over to her and took her hands, gazing into those lively, sea-green eyes. "I mean," he began, "that I don't want to live in solitude anymore. I don't want to live alone with only books for company a second longer. I want to live forever by your side." And then he got down on his knees, still holding both her hands in his. "Lynette, would you do me the honor of sharing this flat and granting me your hand?"

She did not speak for a moment, mouth open in a silent 'o' as she looked don at him. Her silence wavered him once more, and the anxious babbling began again. "Of course, it can be renovated to suit the needs of two; the needs of a home, and I'm fully prepared to—"

He was cut off by her throwing herself into his arms, crushing her lips to his. He knew what it symbolized, and could have sighed in relief, had his mouth not been otherwise occupied at the moment. In his happy eagerness he deepened the kiss, lips clinging to hers in a silent, wordless declaration of adulation. After a while, she pulled away slowly, opening her eyes and staring at him, marine orbs probing his expression as if to make sure he got the message. He grinned impishly. "Had I really just rendered the weaver of words speechless?" he inquired playfully. She beamed back, stroking his cheeks and retorting, "Had I really just had the proud, all-powerful Enjolras on his knees before me? You didn't seem like the marrying type." He had gotten a bit lost in her touch, but he managed to reply, "Indeed you had. And I didn't think so either; but you changed me. I am yours."

"But… but what about your devotion to your country? To Patria?" she questioned, dead seriousness washing over her tone.

"You _are_ my Patria now." He said softly in reply, tenderly smoothing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. And it was true. He still felt a great pride in his country, and would no doubt be trying to find ways of emancipation again soon, but now a new passion was aflame inside of him; one burned for her and only her. He knew that now that she had agreed to be his, she would always be first in his soul.

Tears welled up in her eyes ay his words; they were the most stunning, exquisite, faultless words he could have said to her, and their higher meaning nearly escaped her comprehension. He had just proclaimed her his new Patria, the thing she knew him to love with the most fervent of ardencies. Her heart swelled as she replayed them in her mind, knowing that they would now remain there, and etched in her heart, forever more. Then, she just couldn't rein in the exploding ecstasy anymore; she kissed him once more, tears running down her cheeks.

He couldn't help but smile as she caught his lips again; the woman he loved more than anything else was now his officiated fiancé. Her sweet mouth moved as one with his, and he shivered in bliss as her fingers tightened in his hair. With that kiss, he could nearly feel Fate nodding in satisfaction; for with his new, living, breathing Patria in his arms, he knew he was about to embark on the new start that he'd come for.

La Fin (?)

**A/N:**** And there ya have it… the end of all I'd (originally) written for this story. *tears up at the word 'end'* **

**And it was a happy ending, too! But will it stay that way? Or does our rebellious couple here have some rough waters ahead of them? You'll need to read the upcoming DELETED SCENES/EXTRAS to find out! :D That's right, you heard me! I'm not done with these two just yet! Here are some of the ideas I've had for the extras so far; mayhap you'll begin guessing what they're about and let me know if there's anything more you want to see from me! (Cuz I am more than open to new ideas! )**

**Trials and Tribulations**

**Meet the Beauchene's**

**Different POV's from during the main plotline**

**Introducing Madame and Monsieur Enjolras… Sr. **

**When Our Pasts **_**Hang**_** Over Us…**

**And several more! So please; let me know what your guesses are for these listed notions, and if there's anything you're hoping to see from me! **

**And on a similar note; I was wondering if any of you who are planning on reading my upcoming Lyn/Enj pieces would please add me to your favorite authors so that you will receive email notices for when I've released a new one; as they are going to be separate from this story. I'm not doing this because of my own selfish desires for suscribers; but only because I'm hoping y'all will continue following this story and don't want to send out individual PM's for each and every DS/E. Please and thank you; I love love love you all so much and could surely not go on if I didn't have such wonderful, kind, supportive readers! Thank you so much for the incredible gift you've given me! Love and Hugs-from-Enjolras, DonJuana**


End file.
